


In the Details with the Devil

by jadziadrgnrdr



Series: In the Details [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Docking, Face-Fucking, Frottage, Infidelity, Intercrural Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-04
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-01-18 03:16:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 52,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1413016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadziadrgnrdr/pseuds/jadziadrgnrdr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Too much is riding on the good name of One DirectionTM for illicit hook ups to be at the top of their Google search every other week. </p><p>After Harry and Zayn have an unpleasant wake up call, they decide to help each other when tour loneliness gets to be too much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Proposal

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Sarah for your always insightful beta. I'm not tagging any other pairing because anything that is mentioned will be in the background, but obviously because of the premise there will be mentions of Zayn/Perrie. 
> 
> Title from "My Songs Know What You Did in the Dark" by Fall Out Boy

“It’s fucking embarrassing,” Harry follows Zayn outside and watches as he shakes out a fag from his depleted pack. His Bradford accent is always more pronounced when he’s indignant or bothered. _”fawkin embahrruhsin!”_ Harry smiles sideways but sobers almost immediately. He feels just as judged and insulted. He watches Zayn’s pinched expression and forceful staccato movements as he wrestles a cigarette into his mouth and lights it. When he takes the first long drag, only then does he allow some of the intensity to bleed from his spine. He leans back on the wall and they fall into a heavy silence. 

Oh, everyone was very polite and professional. They were in the big conference room, seated around the table were the band, and their team that had helped them to build this impossible dream. The Tour. It had been sitting in the distant future of Spring 2013 for so long, the fact that it’s a little over three weeks away seems unreal. 

The band was excited and motivated. They only had to be told to “please focus, lads” two times. They had handled all of the important things, thumbing notes and reminders into their phones and asked questions as they went. Marco and Karen excused themselves to go oversee some promo details. When they exited, Will and Richard exchanged a look. 

At first Will started talking and when he faltered Richard chimed in, the only problem was none of the boys could suss out what they were on about. Off their confused faces, Mandy, Will’s new protégé, took over. She didn’t look at any of them in particular, but she did use phrases like “protecting your brand” and “discretion is key.” She acknowledged that tour life could be “quite lonely” and politely suggested a ‘firm’ that management would be happy to keep on retainer for them should they have need of certain ‘premium’ services. Why chance a _(nother)_ tell all or god forbid an encounter with an underage girl? To his credit, even Louis, who had been listening to the whole proceedings up to that point with a smug expression, looked scandalized.

“Sweet jaysus!” Niall breathed, stuttering out an uncomfortable laugh and looking all around the room. Liam looked stricken. Zayn stood up without a word, grabbed his coat from the back of the chair and simply walked out of the room. 

So here he and Harry are. Neither speaks. Zayn sucks on his cigarette ferociously, hollowing out his cheeks, holding in the smoke for a bit then letting it steam out of him like a dragon. After Zayn gets himself under control he begins to speak and he doesn’t sound mad, just sad and tired.

“For the first time in days I wasn’t in my head about it. This--the tour is all I’ve been thinking about and I just… I hadn’t forgotten exactly, but I was looking so forward to all the plans we were making, it wasn’t right there on top. … Shit.”

“Well, it’s still fresh, I suppose. Things will go back to normal with you guys.” Harry says lamely, not sure how he can help but wanting to all the same.

“That’s just it, yeah? I just knew this time it was going to be so hard to get her to forgive me. The whole way back to England I was just going over and over what I was gonna say but like … she did half the work for me. It’s like she’s making herself push everything aside so we can get back to normal.”

“That’s… good, then, right?” Harry asks.

“Maybe. But there’s this weird air between us now too. I can’t really explain it. Meanwhile, everyone I know is getting tweets and calls from the papers asking them why I’m such a sack of shit. My mum was crying over it, Haz.” Zayn looks up with pleading eyes. “I fucked up bad and part of me knows I deserve to catch shit for it but I’m just … Like, I get so tired of everyone thinking the worst of me. All the time.” 

“Hey, listen, they talk, we live, mate. You aren’t the things they say just cause they are saying them.” Harry reaches over and squeezes the back of Zayn’s neck briefly before dropping his arm back to his side. ‘They talk, we live’ or “TTWL” when people are around is something Niall said while they were all high. It seemed like the most profound thing any of them had ever heard at the time, and even after they were sober it still seemed to speak to them so they use the phrase with each other at opportune times. 

“To be honest, with you, I thought you all had an arrangement or something.” Harry says.

“No, just … she said whatever I do on tour she doesn’t want to know about it. That’s all. It’s not an arrangement exactly…” He pauses to gust out a heavy breath and run both hands over his face. “Well, she bloody well knows about it anyway. Everyone in the world does. Plus I wasn’t even on tour so... it’s kind of a mess. My mess, I know but--” His words peter out and the whole declaration ends in a quick little shrug. 

This is the most Zayn has ever said to Harry about it. What he might have told Louis or Liam, is a mystery. Harry is itching to probe, to deconstruct why someone who seems as much in love as Zayn does would take some stranger to the bed he shares with his girlfriend. Tour was different. It had its own set of rules. It could be so stressful and lonely that Harry viewed Zayn going on the pull as often as he did as a coping mechanism just like smoking. This foray with the waitress was something else entirely. 

It made him think of a man he met at a party a week prior. He was called Herman, and Herman had been extolling the virtues of open relationships and playing the field in ones youth. He had spoken at length about how miserable he was trying to conform to the societal pressures demanding that he “grow up” and couple. Now he is a 44-year-old divorced man with an alimony payment and weekend visitations with his two children, but he also had a girlfriend and male lover, both of whom knew one another. He told Harry that he could finally say he knows what happy feels like. 

All of this had sounded mind blowing to Harry but that could also have been the molly he had taken earlier and the second Long Island Ice Tea he had been nursing. Even as Herman was going into, frankly unnecessary, details about his current relationships Harry’s mind lit on Zayn.

Zayn always talked about how Yaser and Trisha knew they were meant to be together almost as soon as they met at the age of nineteen. They had married at twenty-three and never turned back. To Harry at least it seems Zayn is trying to find that, to replicate that with his girlfriends, but as much as Zayn craves the security of adult-style commitment, he’s still a young lad in a 24/7 buffet of interested birds, and more opportunities and resources than almost anyone his age. 

Harry wound up extricated himself from this conversation when it degenerated into Herman touching his arms a lot and all but begging to suck him off. Long after he’d bid Herman adieu, Harry kept thinking about Zayn and how he needs to be honest with himself and what he wants if he’s ever going to be happy.

Harry doesn’t bring Herman or his story up to Zayn now. He deflects. He’s good at that.

“They weren’t just talking to you,” Harry starts to gnaw on the inside of his lip. Zayn regards him for a while. “The papers say I’ve been with half of London so it must be true.” He shrugs. 

“Well, anyway, the day I let some suits keep prostitutes on retainer for me is the day someone needs to put me out of my misery mate.” Zayn huffs a humorless laugh. Harry makes a gruff sound of agreement.

“If parents can’t deal with the fact that we’re grown men and occasionally we’re going to have sex then I’m pretty sure that’s their issue, not ours.” Even as Harry says it, he can feel the lack of conviction behind it. He honestly wants to be someone that his fans can admire, no matter how cheesy it is. “And anyway, a full 70% of every story about me with girls is complete bullocks, so it won’t matter if I take a vow of abstinence, the papers will still report that I’m shagging everyone and their mum so.” 

Zayn nods. There are no answers to be found out here today, only venting to a sympathetic ear.

“You ready to head back in, Haz?” Zayn asks, offering his hand.

“Yeah, I am.” Harry slaps his palm down into Zayn’s and they stand with them clasped together for a moment sharing a look of solidarity and abject weariness. After their moment they separate and head back into the office. When they enter the room everyone stops talking. They pause at the door for a bit and then Mandy speaks up.

“Gentleman, um, I’m glad you’re rejoining us. Louis … made me aware that I might have unintentionally of course, made you feel disrespected…”

“I believe what I said, dear Mandy, is that you were talking to them like lurgy-riddled slags.” Louis clarifies. The red in Mandy’s cheeks deepens.

“Yes, well. … I had no intention of making you – any of you – feel uncomfortable. Please forgive me.”

“S’cool.” Zayn answers for both of them. Harry and Zayn take their seats and the meeting is permitted to continue.

 

None of this comes up again until a week later during a tech rehearsal. The band is all psyched because the backgrounds that they had helped plan looked excellent, but something had gone wrong with the lights, so they were taking a long lunch while the electricians and assorted grips got everything squared away. 

Harry sees Zayn slip off to one of the unused loading bays, probably looking for an egress from the building that isn’t being surveyed by hundreds of screaming fans. When Harry follows him, he sees Zayn bent over his phone and puffing on a cigarette. 

Zayn looks up briefly and goes back to looking at his phone. He’s learned that when Harry follows him on his little walkabouts he’ll generally leave him alone with his thoughts. Harry does address him this time, however.

“Remember that team meeting last week … with Mandy?”

“Umm I’m not likely to forget that meeting any time soon, mate.” Zayn says raising an eyebrow. Mandy still looks at the both of them with deep apology and mortification whenever she sees them. 

“Well, I’ve given what Mandy said some thought and … I think there’s a way we can help each other. Keep each other out of trouble,” Harry says. He can’t look up and he’s shaken his hair out three times in quick succession.

“What? Like some kind of shagger’s anonymous?” Zayn goes for levity even though he can’t quite keep the slight manic energy out of his posture.

“I mean…it’s not that we’re not going to have needs, it’s just that we have to not hurt people, and I think we should help one another so we don’t have to make bad decisions.”

“What are you saying right now, Harry?”

“I think,” Harry begins, then takes a deep breath and looks up to meet Zayn’s eyes. “I think we should take the edge off each other when we get too antsy.” 

“Whatdoyoumean? Like fuck each other?!” _"fawk each'otha?!"_ Zayn realizes hollering such a thing is a bad idea in the caverns of this warehouse with all the tour staff and Spurlock’s cameras about. He closes his mouth with a snap and just stares at Harry with huge eyes.

“Not…I don’t think it needs to be that extreme. I mean, from day one almost, we’ve crossed a lot of lines that mates don’t generally cross anyway.” On Zayn’s unreadable look, Harry soldiered on. “ Come on Zayn it’s not like we haven’t gotten off – all of us – with each other before.”

“That was different.” Zayn whispers fiercely. “That’s like normal kid stuff!” 

The lads had blended like water for the most part. Even the small hitches in their bonding process were quickly smoothed over, so it wasn’t even shocking that after they got through on week three of the live shows, they couldn’t go to sleep and instead opted for a late night communal tug and rub. All Zayn remembers is that Louis instigated it, Harry kept stoking it, and the following day Zayn was the one who had to talk Liam down from having a full-blown sexuality crisis. He had bluffed his way through it for a bit before going online and showing Liam forums where serious sounding grown ups assured everyone that circle jerks were a healthy part of the growing heterosexual lad’s maturation process. 

“Yeah but even after that - the hugging, the flirting, the occasional kiss, the touching… Look, I can’t be 100% sure, but I don’t think regular lads play with their mate’s hair until he falls asleep.”

“You had a bad dream, I was just trying to help,” Zayn says sullenly.

“And it was brilliant! We help each other with stuff like this all the time, Zayn. Just look at it as that.” Zayn still looks dubious and starts to shake his head, so Harry pulls out his final gambit. “The X Factor house was not the last time you and I saw each other come, Zayn. It’s not that big of a stretch.”

“But we weren’t responsible for making each other come, Harry, you had your girl and I had mine and we just shared a room. That’s all. It’s not the same thing.”

Harry has lost a bit of patients, so he steps right into Zayn’s space, using both his superior height and bulk to his advantage and speaks low directly into Zayn’s ear. “We’ve not shared a room out of necessity since the first tour, Zayn but just before the end of the last one I watched you come down a girl’s throat all the same.” Zayn’s breath catches and Harry’s eyes never waver from Zayn’s. 

That was a night that they never discussed. Yes, they both pulled, their companions a tall, lean blond for Harry and a short curvy brunette for Zayn. They started off like usual, sneaking glances at one another’s progress here and there, but then Harry looked up from where he was snapping his hips into Nora and saw Zayn openly staring at him, over Saraya’s head as it bobbed in his lap. When Harry’s eyes met Zayn’s Zayn, spread his legs a bit further and licked his lips. They didn’t break eye contact until Zayn threw his head back, spilling down Saraya’s throat. Harry stared at his Adam’s apple as it jumped, then curled down onto Nora and found his own release eyes closed tight and images of sweaty tan tattooed skin pulsating behind his eyelids.

Harry is not trying to scare him, he just wants Zayn to acknowledge what is going on and what has been going on for quite a while already. In light of the lines they’ve already crossed, this new dimension hardly seems like the chasm that Zayn is making it out to be. Harry backs up and sits down on the low wall they’re leaning on. He remembers how weird Zayn was after that last incident in his suite and briefly regrets bringing it up. 

“I’ll think about it yeah?” Zayn says quietly.

“Yeah, of course. Take your time.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Zayn thinks about it for exactly three days before he corners Harry at rehearsal again. 

“What exactly would we be agreeing to if we like agreed to it?” Harry ponders this so long that Zayn thinks maybe Harry was joking when he proposed it, or he didn’t even remember saying it in the first place. Occasionally, Harry can be flighty and leave you to contemplate for days something he’s long since evacuated from memory. 

“Basically, we can just do whatever you’re comfortable with, whatever’s going to feel good for us both. It’s not the same as having it off with a bird I know, and it’s not gonna be the same without the pulling, that’s part of it for sure …. but I think it’s enough of a substitution to keep us from wandering too much.”

“Yeah just keep us in check a bit,” Zayn agrees. “I …I can see that working _maybe_.” Zayn says rubbing the side of his face where a dusting of stubble has begun to form. To be honest, although Harry loves the chase of it, Zayn can really do without. Even after all this time he’s still a bit too awkward to really enjoy the pursuit. It’s always been more about the release for him. "We should probably have some idea of what we want to do... make sure there are no surprises?" Zayn continues.

“Like ground rules?” Harry asks.

“Yeah, like that. Umm, no bumming. I don’t think I’m interested in that either way to be honest.”

“Okay, I can live with that. So I’m guessing you’ve never –“

“No, I have never.” 

“…not even with a girl?”

“No. I started like three years after you, mate. You know this.” Zayn sounds a bit indignant. 

Harry did know. Zayn had been a virgin at the start of X-Factor. Zayn’d certainly made up for lost time in the meantime, but Harry remembered their first nervous discussion over the fire at his house. Zayn had nearly whispered that he was a virgin, almost flinching. They hadn’t known each other well, but Zayn had admitted later how scared he was that they would make fun of him. Harry remembered thinking it was sweet. 

Geneva had been Zayn’s first, but he had not been hers. Even then, Harry was the one he came to with all of his fears. Even made him swear to not tell the others how bad he was freaked. That was their first secret. 

“But you’ve had girlfriends like a bunch of them since I’ve known you.” Zayn had quickly moved on to Rebecca after Geneva. And there were so many more that Harry couldn’t remember the name of between then and now. To be honest, “girlfriend” was a euphemism, really. 

“Yeah, but most girls aren’t into that kinda thing Haz… I’m sure if I had your silver tongue I could talk a girl into doing just about anything.” Zayn had meant his comment as a joke, had waggled his eyebrows exaggeratedly and everything, but Harry stiffened.

“I didn’t talk anyone into anything, it was her idea, and she talked ME through it. I’m not the huge pervert you all think me to be.” He can feel his face closing in on itself and can hear the hurt in his own voice. He wishes sometimes he didn’t telegraph everything so completely.

“Hey, hey I’m sorry, mate. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.” And then, “Was it Caroline?” Harry wouldn’t normally disclose such a personal thing about a girl he’d actually dated, but he trusted Zayn and he knew that if this plan he was proposing was going to work he needed to be more open to Zayn, not less.

“Yeah, it was her. … She really seemed to like it. We did it a few times. It was nice.”

Zayn loses it then.

“It was _nice_?! You sound like you were talking about a bloody cricket match.” Zayn can’t stop laughing and that makes Harry laugh. Eventually Zayn reaches up and pulls Harry by the neck into a headlock then kisses the top of his head. Harry doesn’t fight overmuch because this isn’t one of their wrestling sessions. Zayn lets him go fairly quickly.

“You are bloody mad, Styles,” he says quietly, with a fond smile. Harry simply shrugs and returns Zayn’s soft look.

“Well, I think we can for sure do like we did in the X-Factor house,” Harry gets them back on topic. “We can do a lot of that and we can help each other with that as well.”

Mutual masturbation and hand jobs. Zayn nods. 

"Ok well ... I'm in. We can do this. It's just smart right?" Zayn replies.

"It's fucking brilliant, mate." Harry smiles.

They seal the deal by giving each other a pound and heading back to the main green room. Zayn spends the rest of the day with Louis getting into trouble while Harry hangs out with Niall and Josh. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Despite this very specific talk and the arrangement that they both agreed to, Zayn is caught flatfooted when Harry shows up at his house two days before tour, drunkenly but calmly explaining that they needed to test the effectiveness of this new agreement.

“Come again?” Zayn says, half hugging and half holding up a very inebriated Harry in his front vestibule.

“Don’t get me wrong, Malik, I feel like my proposition was sound. It came from a good place. … it’s just that we don’t know if it will actually work until we test it.”

“I figured that we would go out on tour and when one of us got – what was it you said – antsy? Yeah, we would just seek each other out. Seems straight forward.”

“Haaaa, you said straight.” Harry teases.

“Yes, ha ha”

“But, no, we need to like plan it a bit right? Should the first time we’re negotiating this thing be when we’re in desperate need, Zayn?”

“I’m going to assume the word you were going for in that syllable soup was ‘negotiating.’” 

“Yes,” Harry smiles pleased that Zayn understands him so well.

“That seems like an excellent time to figure things out. We won’t have time to fuck it up if we don’t overthink it and plot it out, Harry.”

“Hmm I don’t … I don’t agree with you. My way is better I’m pretty sure.” And on this declaration Harry is done using his words, because he just starts placing open-mouthed kisses on Zayn’s neck and along his jaw line. Zayn allows it for a while, because he’s only human and Harry excels at sensual kisses. Eventually, Zayn does gently push Harry away from him some. 

“Like I’m pretty sure I can get off with you like in the 85% range maybe but what if it’s just too weird. I’ve never … with a bloke. And I know you haven’t.” Harry takes up his argument again. 

“You think you know so much,” Zayn contradicts emptily but Harry’s eyes light up.

“Wait, have you…”

“No, I’ve never. I feel like we covered that, yeah?”

“You said you haven’t bummed before but you may have blown a car load of guys for all I know.”

“You are such a sweet talker, Harry Styles.”

They walk into the living room, Harry leaning heavily onto Zayn. 

“I’m actually surprised about you, you know?” Zayn says as he settles them onto the couch. Harry goes back to tasting Zayn’s neck, realizing belatedly that Zayn was questioning him.

“What?” he asks.

“Seems like you had options … circle you travel in and all.”

Harry detaches from Zayn’s neck with a wet sound and responds, 

"Just because you're BFF with a gay guy doesn't mean it's an all you can eat experiment buffet, pop star." Harry's mimicry is so perfect it surprised a laugh out of Zayn.

“That's unnerving. Never do it again if you're trying to get me in the mood,” Zayn responds.

“Noted.” Harry reattaches himself to Zayns neck but doesn't go back to kissing, just kind of rests his lips there and steams his sweet liquor breath over Zayn’s throat.

“You're right pissed, you are.” Zayn says quietly, petting Harry’s head gently and smiling fondly down at him.

“I am,” Harry admits.

“And whatever fruity concoction got you to this state is going to make you completely sick.”

“It was pink!” Harry says happily sitting up and forcing his eyes to focus on Zayn’s face.

I'm sure it was. Let’s get you to a room, yeah?” Zayn gently scratches the nape of Harry’s neck.

“Yeah. ... Wait a room? Not yours then? I promise I won't barf in your bed.”

“I know that, because if you were to chuck it in my room 1D would be missing a member…”

“Heeeeey.”

“And who would shake all the hands and kiss all the babies for us?”

“I like babies.” Harry chirps.

“I know you do,” Zayn says with a little chuckle.

“Also,” Harry pauses to belch, make a face, then continue. “I won’t take advantage of you.” Harry makes their ball tickling gesture toward Zayn and sticks out his tongue.

“It’s doubtful you can get it up at this point, love,” Zayn responds playfully. 

“Don’t underestimate me, Malik!” Zayn is already getting up, allowing Harry to timber over in the space he vacated. 

“So, upsie daisy!” He takes Harry by both hands and hauls him up, both of them laughing now at how ungainly Harry’s lanky body is. 

When Harry finally gets his footing halfway stable, their mouths are mere centimeters from each other. With a pleased smirk, Harry pulls himself up to his full height and looms over Zayn a little. Soon the smirk is replaced with something softer and more curious. He leans in, and Zayn does the same. They share a slow exploratory kiss until Harry reaches around and fills his big outstretched hands with Zayn’s entire backside and pulls him toward the column of his erection.

“Whoa, there. I see I was wrong about you getting it up then!”

“Told yoooou!” Harry sing songs huskily. “I noticed you're on board too.” To emphasize the point Harry slots himself in the junction between Zayn’s semi and his v-line. He thrusts up slowly but firmly. Zayn lets out a broken moan before saying, 

“None of that,” He pulls away and reaches behind himself to grab both of Harry’s hands and gently but firmly pull them down and away from his arse. 

“Let’s go, wino,” he sighs. Harry makes a pitiful noise but readily takes Zayn’s hand and laces their fingers together.

“To a room, yeah, got it.” Harry says in what might be considered a chipper tone to someone who didn’t know him. Zayn responds with a little squeeze of their hands.

“Nope, I changed my mind, not leaving you alone. Gotta keep an eye on you,” Zayn says, pushing an errant curl away from Harry’s eye. Harry’s body sags with relief and he stumble-walks behind Zayn to the bedroom, hands still firmly intertwined with his.

Zayn makes Harry drink an entire glass of water, then refills his glass and sets it on the night stand. By the time he has set out the paracetamol and the bucket on Harry’s side of the bed, Harry is snoring like a warthog.

 

The next day Harry pads into Zayn’s kitchen still in just the black briefs he wore to bed. His hair is everywhere and his face is sleep swollen and confused but he doesn’t look like he’s suffering too wretchedly.

“You alright mate?” Zayn asks from the breakfast nook stool where he’s sat, a bowl of Wheatabix to his right and a cup of tea on his left. He’s reading an article in ATV World magazine, but he puts it aside to examine Harry some. 

“Little bit of a headache nothing too bad.” Harry croaks out as he sits opposite Zayn, hooking his bare toes in the support bar at the bottom of the stool and putting his head in his hands. Zayn doesn’t bother to ask if Harry wants tea, just goes over to the counter and prepares it with the proper amount of sugar and milk (not milky and sugary enough for Zayn’s own taste) and places it in front of Harry. Harry offers a rumble of thanks and sips noisily. They sit for a while saying nothing and then Zayn asks Harry if he wants something to eat.

“No, I’m good thank you.” Harry responds. Zayn’s phone starts to rumble next to his cereal bowl. He looks at it for a few moments then addresses Harry.

"You need to answer Louis in the chat so he can finish his email to Jim about the book stuff." 

"Oh," Harry goes to retrieve his phone from his trouser pocket on Zayn’s floor. When he returns he is already composing his text in the business chat. Zayn’s phone vibrates next to his breakfast bowl again when Harry hits send.

“So, are we going to talk about last night Harry or no?”

“I’m sorry, I came over like that, man. It seemed like a good idea at the time.” They both laugh a little at that. “I was thinking when I first woke up what if Perrie had been here.”

“They have a show in Leeds.” Zayn replies. “And Ant and Danny have been back in Bradford all week so it’s just been me.” 

“Well you can’t fault my timing then can you?” Harry beams a huge smile at Zayn and Zayn huffs a laugh and they find themselves just looking at each other silently for several moments.

“Well,” Harry begins fidgeting a bit and then making himself be still, “I think you’re fit. I’ve always thought you were and not just in the subjective way where you can tell a bloke is attractive but it does nothing for you.” 

Zayn clears his throat and shifts. He runs his hand over his lips to obscure the small smile growing there.

“Oh, fuck off, “ Harry says picking up a discarded dishrag on the counter and throwing it at him. Zayn easily ducks it and catches it one-handed, openly giggling now. 

“No, please go on about how hot for me you are, Haz. Let it allll out.” Harry just looks at him with a side smile and waits for Zayn to sober. 

“What, it’s my turn then?” Harry just looks at him challengingly. “Yeah I guess there’s something there … I don’t know what you want me to say…” He laughs self-consciously and Harry slides down from his stool and walks over to Zayn. Zayn stiffens and starts to chew on his bottom lip, but he lets Harry stand between his legs and peer down at him. 

The silver glow of the winter sun is coming in through the garden window and wreathing Harry’s curls in a halo. Before he even realizes he’s doing, Zayn reaches up to push his fingers through the unruly cloud of hair. What starts as a gentle scritching of the scalp, turns into him pulling Harry down. Harry smirks and then closes the distance, resting both of his palms on the sides of Zayn’s neck. 

This kiss is not that different from the one they shared the night before. It’s surprisingly comfortable and lovely. The biggest difference is that today's kiss isn't tinged with liquor and weed, just minty fresh sobriety. Their tongues torque around each other with very little urgency like a slow dance. Harry lets one hand ride down Zayn’s chest and around to his side. He leaves it there as they change direction, perfectly in sync with one another like when they harmonize on stage. This goes on for a bit more and then they mutually pull back.

“Well… I guess we can do that without much trouble,” Zayn says unnecessarily. 

“Glad you thought to leave out an extra toothbrush in the bathroom, cheers mate.” Harry says.

They take their tea into the room with the fireplace because Zayn likes to start his days there when he can. Harry nabs a kaftan from the wrack on the wall and drapes it over his bare shoulders like a cape before settling onto a seat,

“Wait, what’s the name of this room again?” Harry asks looking around while Zayn turns the key on the gas and lights the pilot. 

“Oa,” Zayn answers as he fusses with the fireplace. Harry nods like he has any clue what that means.

“And the room we were in last night, with the TV and stuff?”

“Power Chamber.” Zayn says. “And don’t take the piss.” 

“I’m not! I think it’s cool that you name your rooms. It’s way more interesting than the generic living room, sitting room, kitchen and stuff.” When he finally has a good fire going and can sit beside him on the couch, Zayn scrutinizes him through his fringe.

“Honest to god,” Harry says, crossing his heart. He’s smiling but he’s sincere. 

They sit in silence for a long while. Zayn’s ‘couch’ in this room consists of four adjacent recliners with heat and massage capability. They doze by the fire for a bit until Zayn gets a call from Perrie. Harry excuses himself; whereas before, the heat from the fire was lulling him to a comfortable, restful state, now it raises sweat on his brow and makes his skin itch under the Batman throw draped over his shoulders. He informs Zayn that he has a lot more to do before he’s ready for tour. This is as absolutely true as it is avoidant. 

He goes to get dressed, and when he comes back, Zayn walks him out and conveys Perrie’s greetings to him. Harry returns the sentiment as enthusiastically as he ever does, but it feels weird considering what he and Zayn have done and plan to do in the future. 

As Harry makes his way back to the Winston's, he turns up the radio and very studiously avoids thinking about Perrie or the other boys or anyone else that might take issue with he and Zayn’s new arrangement.


	2. The Concordance

There is something invigorating about the bedlam of tour. They play two shows the first day and there’s no end to the energy they receive from family, the label, the film crew, and press. 

By the end of the first week everyone pretty much remembers their cues but none of them are quite acclimated to the overwhelming swell of fans. It’s one thing to read the crowd capacity of each venue to yourself multiple times a day, but it’s something completely different to perform in front of the massive throng. 

They settle into a routine once things really get under way. In the morning, when they gather for breakfast in craft services, Niall rattles off quotes from the reviews. _“MSN says we were singing live and doing it well, boys!”_ They usually follow up breakfast with press, sound check, a few hours messing about, and then it’s meet and greets, more press and the show. Some nights there is just enough time to grab a shower before running to get on the bus, sometimes not even that much.

The final preproduction meetings before they start recording the third album prove to be interesting. It’s always fun to see Paul trying to wrangle Julian as well as them. It generally leads to Paul muttering long-sufferingly occasionally letting out words only Niall can understand. _“Whoa there, Paul. That’s some language. That’s not PG at all, mate!”_

Harry and Zayn are never alone together. It’s a relief and a frustration. Zayn finds himself thinking of quiet illicit kisses in the sunlight, being pulled against a larger, solid body and big hands on his side far more frequently than he knows he should. He never lets those daydreams get too far, always deliberately thinks of a slight body and promises made. Whenever he has to do that, to recalibrate his mind in that way, he questions whether or not this ‘deal’ he struck with Harry was such a good idea. 

Now that Harry knows he can have Zayn in this way, he finds himself maneuvering to be near him during the day, getting a little peevish with the people who are always around them, but ultimately too shy at night when everyone is settled in for sleep as the bus rumbles to the next country. When he’s alone in his bunk listening to the heavy breathing of his band mates, he thinks about standing in Zayn’s kitchen already wanting more but being wise enough not to push. Part of him regrets it now, wishes he hadn’t been so wise. It was unlike him to show restraint then and it is equally unlike him to lay in his bunk alone when he could be touching and being touched.

Nothing changes in how they are with each other. No one looks twice when Zayn walks by Harry in the dressing room and plants a light kiss on his forehead, because he does the same to Niall seated right next to him, and when Louis demands a kiss, he gives him one too. The specter of what they have agreed to be for each other hangs vaguely between them. Neither wants to be the first to go to the other with desire in his heart. 

It’s a day off in Cardiff. A coil of tension has just taken up residence all along the line of Harry’s shoulder blades and his lower back is throbbing dully. This, coupled with his all too prevalent restlessness, leads him to a hotel door one floor up from his own. He knocks.

“Hey,”

“Hey, Haz, you okay?” They share a hug. “Look I was just about to...”

“Yeah, I know. That's why I'm here, actually. You said you'd show me some stuff but if you want me to come back...”

“No, no, come in you nut!” Cal gives Harry a confused look and aggressively ruffles his hair. Harry can feel himself being reticent and strangely formal but he can’t stop himself until Cal takes him by the shoulders and looks at him directly.

“You sure you’re alright, bud?” 

Harry smiles and lets the tension he’s been holding in his body blow out in a heavy sigh. He wants to tell Cal about the pact he has with Zayn and how their every interaction is tinged with that knowledge, and how good it felt to kiss him and how he’s completely preoccupied with the shape of Zayn’s mouth when he smiles or when he’s pouting for the cameras or when he sips from Harry’s water bottle on stage. He wants to know if Cal thinks they’ve already gone too far or if Harry’s plan is as brilliant as he believed it was when he thought of it. 

“Yeah, I’m good, just tense. Back’s acting up is all,” is what Harry says when he opens his mouth.

“Oh, man, okay… let’s get you started with a few light stretches, then.” The room smells amazing; Cal’s placed aromatherapy candles at various points. Harry notices the yoga mat on the floor in the center as Cal goes to fashion him a makeshift one using of the comforter on the bed. Harry’s doctor had suggested he try either ballet or yoga for his back. Harry had asked Cal about his own yoga regimen, but this is the first time he’s actually taking Cal up on his offer to teach him. Harry doesn’t leave until Cal has taken him through several poses over the course of an hour. After heading back to his room and luxuriating in a hot shower, he feels like a new man.

He’s sauntering back into his bedroom with a towel wrapped around his waist and a cloud of steam trailing behind him vigorously rubbing his head with another towel when there is a knock at the door. He knows that it’s Louis before he goes to see who it is. Louis tends to knock on doors like someone is chasing him. A look through the keyhole confirms his suspicions so he opens the door and heads back toward the bed dropping his towel on the way.

“Jeez, Harold, what if I were a fan? Your pasty bum would be all over TMZ right now.” 

“What’s up, Lou?”

“We’re going out. “ 

“Yeah?” Harry perks up. 

“We won’t be prisoners in our hotel rooms any longer. Paul’s already found us a place and called ahead. It’s a done deal.” 

“Sick. Everyone’s going?” Harry asks, going for nonchalance. 

“Yeah… well all except Zayn, you know Perrie is getting in early tomorrow and all so he’s staying behind. Probably for the best really.”

“Oh…well, okay. Um. Gimme like fifteen then?” Louis is already halfway to the door satisfied that Harry will get himself together. 

“You have fifteen. Not a moment more. If I have to come back up to get you, Harold, heads will roll.” Harry flips him the bird and Louis pretends to capture it and put it in his pocket before opening the door and letting it slam behind him.

Harry doesn’t generally need that long to get ready, especially after already having showered, but he winds up dawdling a bit and then having to rush downstairs when a series of increasingly more threatening messages from Louis start blowing up his phone. 

 

The club is pretty standard. Even entering through the back doesn’t stem the tide of those wanting to get close to them. They are sequestered in a makeshift VIP area where Louis holds court and Niall and Liam are content to remain. Ian, Paul, and Alberto have their hands full, trying to keep the horde at bay and block pictures when they can. Louis ordered bottle service for the whole night, and Niall is surreptitiously choosing girls to invite to their section through Ian, so Harry doesn’t have to battle it out at the bar with the other club goers, but he wants to. 

Niall takes one look at the heaving bodies waiting to envelop Harry as soon as he gets to the bottom of the three stairs leading up to their section and just laughs. 

“Jesus Christ! No fucking way, man. No way!” He says, and turns back to his drink. Harry smiles and makes his way over to the closest bar. 

After that, Harry leaves frequently to dance, take pictures with fans and get more drinks. All-in-all it proves to be a pretty good night. Despite many offers both explicit and oblique, Harry doesn’t pull. Louis’ regards him shrewdly before asking about it as they pile into the SUV back to the hotel. 

“That bird you were talking to over by the bar, I just knew you would be nipping back to the hotel a bit early, Harry.” 

“Yeah … I just want to get some sleep, I think. Don’t want to overdo it so early, right?” He smiles and shrugs easily but Louis’s eyes narrow. Harry looks out the window.

“Fuck the label, mate. Fuck them. Mandy didn’t have any right to…”

“She was doing her job, yeah? It’s not that big a deal,” he says patting Louis’s knee. “And anyway I really am knackered, haven’t gotten my tour stamina yet.” The look on Louis’ face suggests he’s not convinced but he drops it and starts teasing Niall. 

Harry leans his head back and closes his eyes. When he opens them again, they’re back at the hotel. There are far fewer girls lining the perimeter than when they left for sound check in the morning. Louis and Niall head in first with their guards keeping the girls at bay. 

Harry is the last to exit the vehicle. Alberto gets into position and Harry starts to walk but hearing the girls plead for him makes him falter and then change course all together. He spends close to 20 minutes taking pictures, signing things and chatting with the crowd. When he enters the lobby of the hotel it’s blessedly quiet. Alberto looks a little worse for wear and Harry could topple over where he stands while waiting for the elevator, but it still seems worth it. This life was literally all he ever dreamed about as a kid and he’s not going to let a bit of oppressive fatigue take away these moments that could end at any time.

 

In the morning, Harry presses snooze a few too many times and winds up having to run to the elevator. He makes it just in time to see the doors slide closed. He presses the button and a moment later the same elevator opens, revealing Perrie smiling huge. She issues a cheerful good morning while she presses the _Doors Open_ button. Zayn stands behind her, resting his cheek against the top of her head and smiling sheepishly and sleepily at Harry. Harry returns the smile, offering a croaky greeting of his own before entering the elevator and unnecessarily pressing the already lit button for the lobby. 

Four of their guards are on the elevator with them yawning and swaying in place. As Harry has witnessed many times in the past, the guards can shift from visibly tired to English Pointer vigilance at a moment’s notice. Today is no different; when they get to the lobby, the security team moves efficiently to get them all safely back onto the bus and rolling toward the venue. 

If Niall is a morning person, then Perrie is that _on steroids_. The two blonds get into a discussion about music that literally begins when the bus pulls off from the curb to when it pulls into the venue. It’s a loud animated conversation with sound effects and the copious strumming of Niall’s favorite guitar. 

All Harry wants is a nice cup of tea. He’s is the first off the bus, but this time they all put in a few moments of signing and taking pictures with the fans outside before being ushered into the arena. Harry consults the wall-mounted legend before heading directly to craft services for his tea. His day starts to look up when he sees Lou sitting with Percy, one of the roadies. Lux is sleep in her pram beside Lou. Harry lightly brushes his fingertips over her fringe then sits down. He’s takes this opportunity to rest his head on Lou’s shoulder for a bit. She directs a quiet fond good morning into his hair then goes back to talking to Percy. Harry isn’t paying attention; he just likes to hear the hum of her voice through her body. He drapes his arm over her middle and really gets comfortable. She allows it. He loses a few seconds to sleep, but then she’s jostling him awake.

“Let’s go, Haz, gotta get back to my station. Gotta do some cuts first.” Instead of letting her up, Harry holds onto her tighter and smiles at her impishly.

“No,” he says simply.

“Oh, come on, you,” she goads while poking him sharply in the side. Harry’s responding whiney is enough to startle Lux from her sleep. She fusses a little until Harry scoops her up with apologies in several different animated voices. 

He stays close with them all day, holding Lux in his arms while Lou works. When Zayn comes over for his cut, he seems to be feeling out the situation. It takes Harry a few beats to catch on that Zayn is trying gauge whether or not Lou knows. Seemingly satisfied that Lou doesn’t know about their kisses and plans to do more, Zayn visibly relaxes. Everything is so pleasant that Harry is caught off guard during his own grooming; Lou has questions.

“What’s wrong with you today?” 

“Nothing,” 

“You seem kinda down, s’all.” Lou says frowning at Harry in the mirror.

“No, I’m good. Tired, maybe. I’ll be fine though, Louise.” Lou roles her eyes at Harry, undeterred.

“You and Zayn were being weird.”

“Were we?”

Lou stares at Harry in the mirror for a bit but he doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t even fidget which would be his telltale sign that he was about to crack.

“Fine, don’t tell me, but if you change your mind and need to talk … for real talk, I’ll listen. No need for bottling it.”

“Thanks, I’m good,” Harry responds quietly.

 

It’s nearly a week after Harry and Lou’s aborted heart-to-heart that it happens. Perrie is long gone, but Zayn has been advised by management not to be seen at clubs or parties for a while longer. The articles about his misdeeds with the waitress have all but stopped, but even a quasi provocative picture with a female fan might dredge up the kinds of headlines that were prevalent just weeks ago, headlines that all began with _“Love-rat Zayn Malik,”_ like it was his new name. It’s no hardship for Zayn to stay back and play video games or read or any number of other things that didn’t involve loads of people staring at him while he’s not actually performing.

Harry is never warned away from being seen in the public eye and he had already promised, so he agrees to take the boys of 5SoS out on the town. They go to dinner, which starts with all four lads near tears thanking Harry for what he and the others had done for them. Later Michael announces that he wants to _“party with the infamous Harry Styles”_. They wind up at a club Harry had been to last time they were in Glasgow. 

Harry’s a bit subdued, nursing a Redbull and vodka in the raised VIP section while surveying the dance floor. There is a part of him that wishes he was back in London at the Groucho or one of his other spots where gawking at celebrities is seen as too vulgar and lame to contemplate. Here, no one is even pretending that their meticulously positioned club selfies are legit. Harry puts up a few peace signs and makes a few faces in some of the pics. The girls – and some guys – all seem to get a kick out of him hamming it up in the background. 

Hary’s companions have long since abandoned him. He is uncharacteristically hold up in the VIP section while they had let the crowd swallow them. Michael in particular has taken to the lifestyle with alacrity. It feels like in a lot of ways, the 5SoS boys are younger than 1D had ever been. Harry has to laugh at his own pompousness. At only 19 he knows he’s not as wizened as he tends to think of himself, and he can certainly remember days where they wandered around in goggle-eyed amazement at all the people they got to meet and the things they got to do. He _still_ gets like that sometimes, to be honest.

But Michael’s, well, “reckless” is the only word for it. Even when Harry (and Zayn) were at the height of their carousing during the UAN tour, they at least made attempts at discretion and halfway decent judgment. In week one, Harry had to smoothly intervene when he saw Michael about to grab some alone time with two girls who could very well have been underage. They couldn’t produce an ID between the two of them and every klaxon in Harry’s mind went off, so he sorted it. That night Michael had been so wasted that by the time Harry had gotten the girls bundled away in a cab home, Michael was a bit too sleepy to get cross with him. Who even knew what he was planning on doing with two birds in such a state. The next day Harry schooled him on his own tour hook-up guidelines: Go for women when you can, someone who is clearly 20 or older. If there is a question of age, don’t be afraid to ask for ID. No ID, no hookup. Lastly, have phones and cameras taken for safekeeping by security and only return them when she is on her way down to a cab or her car.

 

Harry’s eyes sweep over the crowd and after a moment, they light on Michael and Asthon pounding shots at the main bar with some local girls. Callum had met a girl earlier that day and had gone to meet her after dinner. Luke wasn’t feeling very good so he went back to the hotel too. Harry actually is thinking about calling it a night soon. He’s just not feeling the normal restless energy that generally accompanies his boredom. 

 

Just as Harry is coming around to the decision to leave, he makes eye contact with a woman standing by the DJ booth. She doesn’t have the same look of barely contained hysteria in her eyes that most girls do when Harry looks at them. In fact, she makes a show of sipping prettily on her drink. She certainly fits the over 20 guideline, and that’s probably why. A remix of a Nikki Minaj song comes on and it gets her dancing. She finishes her drink in one sip then sets the empty glass down so she can clap her hands above her head and swing her hips unbidden. A guy comes up to dance with her and she artfully maneuvers her body so that her bum is to Harry and she’s swaying her hips quite adeptly. A few moments later she dances away from the dude altogether. It is a smooth move, Harry notes. The guy just moves on to the next moving female body. When she catches Harry’s eye again, she smiles. 

 

Moments later she is being ushered into Harry’s area by Alberto. She doesn’t seem flustered, in fact she seems a bit knowing. Her accent is somewhat hard to parse in spots, but soon Harry is making her giggle with his impression of her brogue. Her name’s Cassandra. Harry’s instincts are telling him that this girl has a 50/50 chance of talking to the press. It’s bad odds but he’s already thinking about what she would look like beneath him. 

 

It’s going on 1 a.m. and Cassandra is telling him about her music collection when Harry abruptly decides to test the arrangement he has with Zayn. She seems to be talking exclusively about bands and songs that Harry remembers mentioning in interviews, and she keeps taking surreptitious looks over her dainty shoulders to make sure there are people seeing them talking. His 50/50 is looking more and more like 70/30 as the seconds tick by.

He texts Zayn: _Hey, you up?_

The response takes about a minute to come through.

_yeah… where are you?_

_I’m at a club. There’s a girl here. We’re been talking for a bit but I can tell she’s just waiting for me to invite her back._

_Do you want her?_

_Yeah, I do._

Zayn lets Harry’s text hang there long enough that Harry types a 

_?????_

The reply is instant this time.

_I’m up. Come to my room._

Harry tells Cassandra that he has to leave. She is supremely put out about it, but she still gives Harry her number.. He quickly scans the crowd again and Michael is pouring shots down a girl’s mouth. They make eye contact and Harry has never seen more blissed-out appreciation in his life. Michael mouths “thank you” before licking a bit of salt off the girl’s cleavage.

When he ambles over to tell Michael and Ashton he’s leaving he notices one of the girls in their group spots him while he’s half way across the club still trying to make his way to them. Her eyes sparkle. The girl that Michael’s with doesn’t stop hanging off of him, but she and all her friends shift their posture so that they’re leaning toward Harry. They don’t even seem to realize they’re doing it, and Michael is three sheets to the wind, not feeling any pain, so he doesn’t pick up on it either. Ed calls it Harry’s photosynthesis. Girls (and guys too according to Ed) tend to turn their attention to him when he enters a room no matter who they were talking to or flirting with before. Harry had laughed it off and changed the subject when Ed was saying how humbling it was for everyone else around him.

 

As it turns out, Michael and Ashton are ready to leave as well. The girls who they’d been courting all night are in tow. They all head out together through the back exit, Alberto taking point. There is a small contingent of fans and photographers. They don’t stop, but Harry does slow down every few steps to smoothly take pictures and sign, as he keeps moving toward the cars. Once things get quiet again, the blond girl with Ashton shyly asks Harry if he’s going to party with them at the hotel. Harry smiles but politely declines, telling her that he has an early day tomorrow and really Ash and Michael are the party animals. She pouts, but then Michael leans down and whispers something in her ear that makes her giggle. Both she and her friend pout again when they realize Harry isn’t even coming with them in the car. 

“See you tomorrow, emos, don’t stay up too late!” He says cheerfully before heading to his car with Alberto. Ashton waves and Michael flips him the bird. Harry laughs then he’s enveloped in silence once the SUV door slams shut. The ride back to his hotel takes forever but also over too quickly. Harry’s energy is back. He uses the back entrance and service elevator instead of running the gauntlet in front of the hotel.

Harry heads to his room to wash his face and put on a bit more deodorant then he heads down the hall to Zayn’s room. He takes three slow breaths before knocking on the door and waits. It doesn’t take too long for Zayn to open the door. There is the lingering scent of weed in the air and his eyes are low but they sparkle like always.

“Hey Harry,” He says warmly while stepping aside for Harry to enter. He’s wearing basketball shorts and a hoodie zipped to his diaphragm with nothing under it. The hood sits back on the crown of his head and Harry can see that his hair is artfully tousled where it’s exposed like maybe he had wet it and put a bit of product in it once he realized he was having company. There is also a dusting of stubble lining his delicate jawline. Harry supposes that Zayn carefully thought out just how much he could do to make himself a bit more desirable without overdoing it, and it’s that thought that makes him relax. This is Zayn. He knows how he thinks and this is not a _Big Deal_ even if Harry can’t stop drumming his thumb against his thigh while he’s standing there. 

Zayn’s trainers are neatly sat behind the door so Harry kicks off his boots and places them right next to them. Instead of a minibar, each of their suites has a small standing bar with liquor bottles approaching the normal size you’d buy in any wine and spirits.

“How has your night been, man?” Harry asks. 

“Been good, did some sketching. I wrote a little. What are you drinking?”

“Vodka cran?” Harry asks. Zayn is already over near the bar. Harry sits in an overstuffed chair and watches Zayn pour, spilling a bit of juice on his fingers and then licking it away quickly. He brings Harry’s drink over and hands it to him before sitting back on the couch.

“Thanks,” Harry says quietly before sipping. Zayn had gotten the perfect ratio of juice to liquor. “This is so good; if this whole singing thing goes bust you should get a job at a pub.” Harry says. Zayn laughs brightly. His own bottle of Jack Daniels is already on the coffee table with a half full tumbler beside it.

“Yeah, mate. Thanks I’ll take it under advisement,” Zayn responds. They drink in pleasant silence. Zayn is playing some R&B lowly on the iPod dock, but Harry can’t place it. He’s just about to ask about it when Zayn speaks up instead.

“So, what did she look like.” Zayn says sitting back on the couch spreading his legs invitingly. He takes a sip then watches the amber liquor sluice around in the tumbler as he slowly rotates his wrist. Harry takes this opportunity to join him on the couch, it didn’t seem like the type of conversation they should have across from one another. 

“You would have liked her, I think. She had long dark hair, almost to her waist, long legs lean, with a tan. Reminded me a little of Megan Fox actually.”

“Yeah?” Zayn asks, focusing his attention on Harry. “Those are strong words, Harry, don’t use Megan’s’ name in vain.” Harry laughs.

“No really, mate!. Also when she was dancing I noticed her bum. It was firm, tight, really nice.”

“Oh?” Zayn’s eyebrows shoot for his hairline, he puts his drink down and when he sits back he moves a bit closer to Harry. 

“Yeah. Remember that bird in LA last tour-- what was her name?”

“There were a lot of birds in LA last tour. Like, loads mate. Be more specific.” Zayn comments.

“You know the one I mean, the one we met by the pool.” Harry says with a sideways smile.

Zayn remembers. She was going to come up to their room, just her and him and Harry. Paul had put an unceremonious end to that little plan, but Zayn remembers. 

“Alita, Her name was Alita, I believe.” Zayn responds. Harry grins.

“Yes! Alita, this girl from tonight looked similar.” 

“Hm, … I wonder what it would have been like, if Paul hadn’t stopped us.” Zayn comments. He is kneading Harry’s shoulder lightly and looking up through his lashes.

“She had a really nice neck,” Harry says.

“What?” Zayn says, laughing a little and giving Harry the look he gives when he thinks Harry is being a space cadet. 

“Her neck, it was really long and elegant. I wanted to start there. With you. Me on one side, you on the other. Work our way down.”

Zayn nods his head in approval. “I remember her having really nice breasts, not really big, but nice.”

“I remember how hard her nipples were in her bikini It wasn’t even cold.”

“I think that was her body’s way of showing interest, Harry.” Zayn raises his hand and uses his knuckle to slowly tease at Harry’s nipple, which is also apparent through his shirt. “You have that in common.” He continues softly, feeling and watching Harry’s nipple pebble up even harder. Harry’s lips are parted a bit and he’s staring at Zayn’s mouth, so Zayn slides the fingers of his free hand through the curls at the back of Harry’s head and pulls him in. 

This kiss is nothing like the first two, which were positively chaste in comparison. It’s the first one where they both have a clear goal in mind. The angle is a bit awkward, so they disengage and lose their tops before standing up and crashing their mouths together once again. Harry explores the sharp contours of Zayn’s face with his hands while Zayn runs his all over Harry’s back and sides. 

“So,” Zayn begins moving down to suck gently at Harry’s neck. “This girl, were her breasts as nice as Alita’s?”

“Better.”

“Mm, that sounds good. I suppose you would take one side and I’d take the other, yeah. Drive her crazy with our mouths.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s … yeah.” Zayn smirks and then dips down to Harry’s right nipple flicking over it with the tip of his tongue, then licks his fingertips and reaches down to play with the lower right one. Harry’s breath quickens and he groans loudly. 

Zayn doesn’t stop there. He wets the fingers on his other hands then gets to work on Harry’s left nipple. He builds a good rhythm of rubbing and tugging gently at Harry’s bottom nipples and guiding his mouth back and forth across his broad chest to suck and lick and bite Harry’s top nipples. 

“Bed, we gotta get in bed,” Harry insists, almost running over Zayn in his haste to get them horizontal. If Harry has a superpower, it’s getting his kit off more rapidly than the human eye can track, so a few moments later he finds himself standing beside the bed waiting for Zayn to catch up to him with his fist loosely wrapped around his nearly full erection. 

Zayn finally shucks off the last of his clothes and stands up straight to look at Harry … and also everything in the room behind Harry’s head and the bit of floor between them and the alarm clock on the nightstand informing him that it’s 2:00 a.m. exactly which is always interesting, when you randomly catch the clock at the perfect --

Harry is kissing him again. He sucking at Zayn’s bottom lip and tongue, applying steady but gentle pressure on his lower back. It soothes Zayn out of his sudden bout of nerves and he begins giving back as good as he’s getting. Harry smiles against his lips then curls down a bit more to lave at Zayn’s neck then back up to take Zayn’s right earlobe into his mouth. Zayn doesn’t have a moment to feel embarrassed by the noise this action tugs out of him, because a moment later Harry sticks his tongue inside Zayn’s ear and he issues forth an even higher tremulous whimper. 

“Fuck, fuck… Harry, fuuuuck.” Zayn had first told Harry that his ears are super sensitive one night when the rumble of the bus wasn’t doing the trick to lull them to sleep. He had admitted that it was a bit scarily intense how good it felt, so he didn’t let tour girls kiss him there too often. 

Harry knows way too many of Zayn’s secrets. 

Zayn allows Harry to use every bit of his lush mouth on both of his ears, allows his own out of control whimpers and moans to fill the room and allows his body to react naturally by rutting against Harry as Harry ruts against him. Then he pulls back a bit, and they look into each other’s eyes. Zayn maneuvers them on the bed so Harry is beneath him with his long legs spread, red lips parted, and long fat dick leaking heavily on his stomach. He smiles a little when Zayn’s eyes go a little wide at seeing him in all his debauched glory.

“You’re a big boy, Harry. I can see why the birds fancy you.” It’s supposed to come smooth and unaffected but it must not because Harry’s face goes from turned on to concerned.

“You alright, mate?” He places his fingertips on Zayn’s leg lightly.

“Yeah I just can’t believe we’re doing this, that I’m doing this.” 

“We don’t have to, it’s just when we talked --”

“Yeah but talking is a lot different from doing innit?”

“Hey, Zayn we don’t have to. We can scrap it if you can’t…” Harry is already trying to get up, Zayn places a hand on his shoulder.

“No, I want to I just…” He chews on his bottom lip a bit and then he lays beside Harry, tilts his face just so and starts kissing him again. It’s slow and exploratory like the first kisses. Harry is very clearly letting him take the lead, move at his own pace. After a while the heat increases again between them and Zayn slides on top of Harry. Harry spreads his legs a bit to accommodate him. They kiss and move against each other, cocks sliding against each other’s hips.

“Zayn?” Harry whispers between gentle kisses.

“Yeah?”

“Can I touch you?” 

“Yeah.”

Harry gently rolls Zayn so that he’s on his back and Harry is balanced above him, he reaches down and takes both of them in hand and starts to pump up and down their lengths. They hiss and moan with it for a while. They both need better friction though, so Zayn reaches down and starts to work his own shaft while Harry does the same to himself. 

“The bird-- the girl from tonight. How was her mouth?” Zayn pants out.

“It was … she had nice lips.” 

“Do you think she could have sucked us both… at the same time?”

“Yeah, we would have to…” Harry tilts his cock down and Zayn does the same. Harry’s precome flows steadily down the length of Zayn’s shaft. Then Harry’s hand slides forward while Zayn’s hand is sliding back toward his base and Harry’s foreskin seamlessly slides over the head of Zayn’s cock. They both freeze. When Harry starts pumping his cock again with his fist, he lets his foreskin cover Zayn’s head more deliberately. 

Once again, the angle is off so they get up on their knees so it’s easy to press the tips of their cocks together while he works them both through his foreskin. Harry lengthens his stroke and his foreskin glides further up Zayn’s shaft. Zayn holds himself in place and works his balls with his fingertips while clutching Harry’s shoulder.

“god this is… oh my god Zayn, Zayn, fuck yes I just…” Harry stops his rambling by sticking his tongue in Zayn’s ear again, the artless clumsiness of it not deterring Zayn from going ramrod stiff, throwing his head back in a long breathless wine, and filling Harry’s foreskin with a hot jet of come. 

It feels deliciously disgusting and amazing and like nothing Harry’s ever even imagined before. He comes a moment later while the last of Zayn’s release is being milked from his body. Their mixture froths out from the seal they’ve created with Harry’s foreskin and then falls in a torrent onto the bed when they back away from each other. 

“What. The fuck,” is all Zayn says. They’re sweating and there’s come all over their hands and gradually deflating cocks. Harry starts to laugh and after a moment Zayn follows suit. 

 

As far as first encounters go, this one is pretty high for both of them; they even admit as much when they’re companionably showering together afterward. When they’re done and back in the bedroom area, Zayn drowsily grabs the comforter and heads for the sofa.

“The middle of the bed is just one huge wet spot,” he complains.

“Next time we’ll be more strategic about where we do it,” Harry says with a wink. 

“Or maybe next time we spunk all over your sheets, mate.” Zayn counters.

Harry doesn’t responds as he reaches under the bed for his pants. Zayn is roused from his sleep just moments later when Harry drops his work phone onto his stomach. 

“Set your alarm, Malik. We have to be downstairs by 8.” Zayn snorts unhappily but forces his sleepy fingers to do what he’s being bid to do.

“Goodnight,” Harry says, holding his fist up for Zayn to pound lightly and then heading out of the door to his own room. 

 

The next day, on the bus, Harry is smiling goonily when he thrusts his phone in Zayn’s face opened to a Wikipedia page. The entry is for docking and Zayn’s ears get a bit red as he reads. 

“We’re basically sex geniuses. That’s some pretty advanced shit,” Harry says happily as he plops down next to Zayn and placidly unpeels his banana.

“God, shut up.” Zayn cuffs him lightly on the arm but he’s smiling as Paul yells out. 

“All aboard!” and they rumble on to the venue.


	3. Into the Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so. 
> 
> This is not so much a canon piece now as an AU wherein Louis Tomlinson doesn't use the n word and isn't a parody of that kid from Clueless played by Breckin Meyer. Also Zayn Malik understands that there is more to Jamaican culture than marijauna and as Fall Out Boy once said - "Gay is not a synonym for shitty"

¬Docking is amazing. They do it every night for a week. 

The sensation isn’t one Harry can put into words for Zayn other than to say it’s intense. For Zayn it’s the visuals that make it so appealing. They both watch intently, the tops of their heads pressed together, mouths open and chugging out breath. They moan and grunt intermittently. They take turns working Harry’s foreskin up and down their shafts until they explode all over each other. It’s Harry who takes the initiative first to clean off his hand with his tongue staring into Zayn’s eyes. Not to be outdone, Zayn pulls Harry into a voracious kiss before he can properly swallow. 

They mutually agree that it’s best if they don’t tell the others. Fortunately, a few intertwined fingers or Harry conveniently slipping away moments after Zayn has already disappeared hardly seems like anything when Louis regularly climbs onto Liam’s back and bites him on the neck, or Niall doles out ‘just because’ hugs like they’re going out of fashion.

They have clear boundaries. For instance, they don’t sleep together. They get off with each other and they may shower together or lay soaking in the afterglow for a bit but sooner or later, one of them leaves to sleep in his own bed. They don’t get off on the tour bus but that doesn’t stop them from playing the “How Quickly Can I Touch Him or Kiss Him Somewhere Intimate Without Anyone Seeing” game. Zayn is the reigning champion, mostly because Harry spends so much of his time naked. It’s nothing for him to reach out and take Harry in hand and stroke his thumb over Harry’s slit while licking his bottom lip and staring up into Harry’s eyes for a minute before sitting back and picking up the magazine article he’d just set aside.

After seeing to each other for a week, they take a break. They don’t talk about, but it is instant and mutual. A few days later, Zayn shows up at Harry’s hotel room door during a day off. It’s just gone on 5 pm and Harry is vacantly staring into his suitcase at the clean clothes he has left, contemplating how he wants to spend his night. 

“I’ve been sleeping like shit for the past few days.” Zayn says softly with a half smile and his body tensed ready to leave if Harry has a mind to send him away.

Harry rolls his eyes then pulls him by the hand and shuts the door. They don’t do much more than kiss themselves to sleep for a few hours, but it’s enough of an opening that Harry knows when he comes back from clubbing, that night, Zayn will be waiting for him.

Harry comes back pleasantly buzzed and insists that he and Zayn ‘sword fight.’ Zayn insists that Harry stop reading Urban Dictionary, but he does agrees to try it. It’s the perfect convergence of sex and playing. There is even a competitive element because the ‘rules’ state that the ‘loser’ – the one who comes first - has to finish the winner off with a blowjob. 

“Why is _everything_ a competition with you huh, Harry?” Zayn says with fond exasperation as Harry gently kisses his neck.

“It’ll be fun, Zayn. Why don’t you like fun?” Harry whispers.

“Yeah ok, fun. Just stay away from my ears or you forfeit, yeah?”

“You have my word.” Harry says pulling back to look into Zayn’s eyes. They smile lightly at each other. “Oh, but you gotta stay away from my nipples then.” Zayn opens his mouth to ask a point of clarification and Harry cuts him right off.

“And yes I mean all of them.” Zayn laughs lightly, and then sobers. They stare at each other for a moment.

“Hey,”

“Hey,” 

They move forward and begin the feather-light kisses that precede the long, languid makeouts that have become the preamble to all of these encounters.

When Harry unsheathes himself, head of his cock is already wet, normal for him. They slowly rotate their tips around each other, spreading the moisture until they’re both glistening. 

“I love how wet you get. Did I ever tell you that?” 

“A few times,” Harry says then hisses and shudders a bit, leaving his mouth open and his eyes closed and fluttering.

“Good, I wanted you to know,” Zayn responds. His voice deepens but doesn’t waver when he gets turned on. 

After a short while of slowly teasing precome out of each other, Zayn reaches for the bottle of Astroglide on the bed beside his knee. He lays his cock on top of Harry’s and gently holds them in place while he drizzles some lube onto Harry and works it over them both. Harry is gripping him with both hands on his shoulders. They thrust gently, sliding their cocks against each other while Zayn holds them together with a firm grip. This is familiar since they’re used to the in and out of being with girls, although they have to curtail their instinct to swivel the hips or do anything else that will disrupt the slide. They moan and hiss and whimper unbidden, taking moments to kiss each other sloppily when they can.

It doesn’t take long for them to work up a fast smooth rhythm. At one point the head board is tapping out a beat on the wall but since that’s the wall to Zayn’s empty room, they don’t worry about it. Zayn spreads his legs a bit to give Harry more room to thrust. The extra inch or so that Harry has on him makes it so Zayn can feel the head of Harry’s cock repeatedly gliding into his balls. Zayn doesn’t want to come first so he tries to take control by talking. 

“You’re already on the edge aren’t you, Haz?”

“fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck,” Harry chants. 

“I can tell. You’re shaking with it. Come for me babe, I love watching you.” Zayn holds onto them tighter; they groan in unison. He rotates his hold and that’s what does it: Harry grunts loudly three times and loses it all over Zayn. He has to close his eyes in order to stop himself for following suit. Before he’s even reopened them, Harry is turning them and pushing Zayn gently but firmly back on the bed. 

Harry is as eager to get his mouth on Zayn as Zayn is to have his dick sucked by Harry. He starts by cleaning his come off Zayn with broad strokes of his tongue over his balls and inner thighs then licks a stripe right up the underside of Zayn’s cock. 

“Fuck, Harry – ah ah ah, you are up for it, aren’t you?” Zayn asks in stunned appreciation. Harry responds by taking as much of Zayn in as he can and hollowing his cheeks. Zayn gasps and bucks up. He doesn’t want it to end, so he breathes through it as Harry bobs his head up and down greedily.

“God, Harry, fuck _fuuuck_!” Zayn is curled in on himself with two fists full of Harry’s curls. Harry hums, content as a lark while Zayn holds his head still and fucks desperately up into his mouth. Zayn nearly yelps, all traces of control gone. After a while, Harry reaches up and seizes Zayn’s hip, but he doesn’t hold him down or make him stop. Zayn realizes then that Harry isn’t trying to stop his mouth from getting fucked, he just needs the connection as it gets more intense. Zayn isn’t even going deep but gravity is doing its job, and this is the wettest blowjob he’s ever experienced. The longer it goes on, the better it gets, and the faster Zayn fucks and the tighter he grips Harry’s hair. 

Zayn’s been on the edge of orgasm for so long, he knows it’s going to wash over him at any moment. Harry fists his other hand, the one not leaving finger shaped bruises in Zayn’s hip, in the sheets so hard his knuckles are white. He’s still not tried to pull back or slow Zayn down, and Zayn knows that if he flipped them over and started to fuck down into Harry’s esophagus, he would probably take that too. It’s this thought that finally sends his seed rushing into Harry’s mouth with a strangled cry and a full body quake. 

They fall into a deep sleep for about two hours before Zayn rouses himself. When he looks down, he sees Harry’s mop of damp curls on the bed beside his hip and smiles. He gently wakes him, knowing he won’t be comfortable sleeping hanging off the bed like he is for the rest of the night. 

“Harry, hey, I gotta go.” Harry makes a sound somewhere between grumbling and chewing. Zayn wakes him enough to get him in the bed and under the covers. He thinks Harry falls back to sleep again as soon as he’s lying comfortably but then as he’s walking away, he feels a hand clamp down firmly on his forearm.

“Sup, Haz?” Harry let’s his hand drop a bit and rubs his thumb over the knob in Zayn’s wrist, opening his eyes a sliver. Zayn instinctually leans down and places a soft kiss on Harry’s mouth. Harry makes a pleased mew and turns his back to Zayn before falling back to sleep completely. Zayn has to smile down at him for a second before turning to leave.

 

The next morning, Harry awakes feeling settled and warm. He’s smiling and the sun has just barely breached the day. Instead of burrowing back down into his comforter trying to get the last dregs of sleep before his alarm goes off, he gets up, grabs a banana, puts on his workout clothes and heads up to the gym to get some running done. The first thing on his itinerary is hitting the studio at 7, so he has just enough time get in a good warm up. He selects his newest workout playlist, which includes demos for four and a half of their new songs, and empties his mind for a good 25-minute jog on the treadmill. When he’s done he has the bridge to Little White Lies stuck in his head and about 15 minutes to go grab a quick shower and get his ass in the studio. 

As it turns out Harry needn’t have rushed because he winds up 5 minutes late and Julian is still in with Zayn. 

“Zayn, man, you’re still rushing it a little. It’s fast but you’re speeding up too much on the second line, man. Wait lemme… lemme get my metronome … shit fuck, where is it?” 

While Julian is digging around in his gear bags, Harry gets a good look at Zayn, who hasn’t noticed him enter the room yet. His face is completely closed off. He’s bricking it and Julian doesn’t even see it. Julian is probably the most efficient producer they work with, but he misses some of the small things. Savan would have stopped thinking about the schedule and coached Zayn through it, but Julian just isn’t built like that. He’s built for meeting label deadlines and DIY mobile studios in hotel rooms with mattresses for soundproofing. 

Harry knows that Zayn hates messing up or feeling out of his depth. He’s long since stopped letting that feeling hold him back, but it’s still a cornerstone of his character. Harry creeps a bit more into the room and Zayn finally notices him. Harry smiles immediately. Zayn responds with a wan smile of his own and then looks down at his watch. His eyes get a little wider for a moment as he realizes he’s run over his time and he’s still not done. Predictably he starts to chew on his bottom lip. Harry walks over to the monitor. He sees that they’re working on “Through the Dark.” Harry had recorded his part for that just yesterday, so he starts to sing the chorus just as Julian is giving up his search for the metronome, cursing his assistant for not keeping it with his other gear.

“Hey Harry, we’re almost finished here. Let me just get this one bit.” Julian says. 

Harry nods to him but doesn’t stop singing the chorus of “Through the Dark;” he retreats back behind the monitor though and leaves Zayn on the mic. Harry slaps his palm against his thigh, keeping the beat as he sings and after a moment Zayn’s face lights up and he starts singing with him. It doesn’t take Julian long to catch on and cue the playback. Moments later Zayn belts his beautiful, perfectly timed addition to the song and Julian calls a wrap on him for the day. 

 

It’s a full day with a show at the end and visiting reporters doing pieces on the behind-the-scenes of the tour. Zayn and Harry split off to enjoy their downtime separately like usual. Zayn helps Louis steal Preston and Andy’s walkie-talkies so they can run off and use them to squawk about erroneous “code reds” and “code 5s” for half an hour. Harry reads to Lux from her favorite storybook and makes some Vines with Niall. 

After the show, however, Zayn and Harry lay claim to the back lounge. Zayn declares it King’s Landing in honor of the Game of Thrones marathon they are about to begin. Louis says that he might die from the lameness of that statement. Liam’s on the other bus with Dani, and he’s the only other person who watches the show regularly besides Zayn. Louis and Niall go to the front to watch a football match. Once Harry and Zayn are alone under a fleece comforter, surrounded by snacks, they press play on Zayn’s laptop.

“Um, I meant to say thank you, for earlier. I haven’t cocked up like that in a long time. It was just so early, I don’t know.” He ends with a self-deprecating little laugh. Harry had completely forgotten about the start of his day singing with Zayn. He smiles at the memory.

“No worries, you’d do the same for me right?” 

“You probably wouldn’t like need it, but yeah, I’d have helped you out.” Harry playfully gives Zayn’s shoulder a little bite for no real reason. 

“I wish we could all sing in a proper studio and harmonize live and record that for some of the more organic sounding songs,” Harry muses.

“That would be sick,” Zayn agrees, running the tips of his fingers slowly up and down Harry’s bicep. They stare at each other for a while not saying anything or feeling any real need to do so. Harry reaches up to trace Zayn’s scruff, which has become a fixture on his face for the past few days. 

Zayn’s blinking slows down some. The air is so sweet and still in the back of Bus 2 as it speeds down between one European country and the next. Just as Harry starts to move in toward Zayn, someone on the screen gets murdered and there is a lot of yelling, so they start to pay attention to the show again.

 

They seem to go a long while without a hotel night. Zayn gets a chance to FaceTime and Skype with Perrie and his family more. Harry finds himself having random adventures, including one on a party bus full of students celebrating the end of their exams. He meets a pretty girl, and they make out a bit and take pictures. Harry dances and drinks himself into a happy stupor. Liam finds him the next day, naked on his hotel room floor save for one sock. The press has a field day with it, but Harry insists that it had been innocent. Indeed, the pictures that emerge do seem joyful. He gets asked about it a few times in interviews and tries to come off as ever the cheeky rogue. He gets yet another lecture from Paul about his safety but he gets the distinct impression that the label is pleased with this kind of press, vaguely naughty but age-appropriate fun. Mandy would be so proud.

Finally there is a hotel night scheduled and Harry is giddy all day. At one point, Niall asks him, “What is wrong with you, you weirdo?” as they’re finishing getting dressed for the show. 

Zayn just laughs at him and shakes his head. On stage Zayn and Harry orbit each other the whole night, sharing elaborate scenarios about fans and moms in the audience. When they get back to the hotel, Harry throws his things in his own room and then goes directly to Zayn’s.

“That was quick.” Zayn notes with a small giggle. Harry shrugs with a huge smile on his face. They usually like to wait a bit before getting into anything just in case someone comes to their door for hangs. When they kiss, it’s the first time in far too long. They both make twin, satisfied groans upon contact. 

“You owe me, Malik,” Harry says, already undoing his belt and unzipping his jeans.

“I already told you, Harry, I won that sword fight fair and square! You can’t blame me because I have stamina,” Zayn says then finds himself giggling at Harry’s affronted squawk in reply.

They bicker lightly about it between kisses, but in the end, Zayn doesn’t look all that put out to be on his knees looking up at Harry through lush eyelashes. His fist works the majority of harry’s length slowly while Harry gently fucks into his mouth. Zayn’s other hand is in his own trackies, fisting himself in time with Harry’s shallow thrusts. When Harry comes, it’s without warning and Zayn finds himself backing away before he’s even finished, catching the last bit on his lips. It takes him some effort to swallow it all down but he does. He then leans his head on Harrys’ hip and fists himself to completion. When he’s done, he leans back on his haunches and looks up at Harry in a daze.

“Fuck, Zayn, _fuck_.” Harry reaches down and wipes his come off Zayn’s lips with his thumb. “That was incredible. You fucking swallowed, mate.” They’re both still panting when Harry lends his hand to Zayn to help him up. 

“Well, what else was I going to do, Haz? Thanks for the warning by the way I really appreciated it.” Harry giggles while Zayn looks mildly disgruntled.

“Need I remind you that you came in my mouth like a week ago? I just let it run back out me mouth and down your cock though. You swallowed! That’s so hot.” He’s not even fully done with that last sentence before he’s pushing his own tongue into Zayn’s mouth. 

Zayn seems content to let Harry lick every trace of himself out of his mouth, but after a while he indicates that he’d like to get out of his soiled trackies and clean himself up a bit. When he returns from the bathroom, Harry is sitting with his back leaned against the headboard, naked, legs crossed at the ankle. He’s flipping rapidly through the limited offerings on the television. 

Zayn, naked now too, slides right beside him so that they’re touching from their hips to their feet. He patiently waits until Harry has gone through every channel twice, not allowing enough time to assess each option before smoothly taking the remote out of Harry’s hand. He consults the menu page for a bit and decides that the most interesting English language program on offer is a nature show about Venezuelan poodle moths. This leads to a discussion about how awesome it would be to have a pet Venezuelan poodle moth. 

 

The following week, they’re back in the UK. Ant comes out then Danny joins him for over a week. Harry’s cousin Sam comes out and spends a few days too. On the last day of Danny and Ant’s visit, Perrie comes out as well. 

Harry is simultaneously impressed and disheartened by his ability to act normal around her. That had been his worry. Keeping his and Zayn’s arrangement from the lads was just polite. No one wanted to have that conversation. The logistics weren’t always easy, but Harry never felt like they were betraying them. 

Perrie, on the other hand, was an entirely different story. He smiled at her. Greeted her with a hug and small peck on the cheek just like he’d always done. He giggled when she made a weird joke and grinned when she took the piss out of Zayn. He asked her how she and her band had found performing America and was genuinely interested in what she had to say. While Perrie was on tour with them, Harry dutifully pretended to forget the taste of her boyfriend’s sweat on his tongue.

“There you are! I was looking all over for you.” Zayn envelopes Perrie in his arms from behind. She giggles and wriggles around a bit. Harry’s hand involuntarily tightens around his drink and the plastic cup buckles some. Zayn won’t even meet his eyes. Come to think of it, Zayn has been avoidant and cagey the whole time Perrie has been on the road with them this time.

“I was just telling Harry about that guy in New York who kept calling us the ‘Mix Ups.’” Perrie and Harry share another chuckle over it.

“Oh yeah, that was wild,” Zayn begins distractedly. “But let’s get a move on.” He adds, trying to physically turn her toward the door. 

“Rude, rude,” Perrie says, swatting at his hands on her middle. 

“Sorry, sorry. Just… the car is ready. It’s outside,” Zayn continues, remembering to paste on a smile at the end. He still hasn’t looked at Harry.

“There’s hardly gonna be traffic this late, love. Besides, the movie can’t start without us, right?” Zayn had bought out an entire theater at the cinema for a midnight showing of _Oblivion_

“Yeah, you’re right, babe.” Zayn says, looking fit to burst. Harry is fascinated. What does Zayn think he’s going to do or say? Is this a manifestation of guilt?

“What film are you all going to see, again?” Harry asks, knowing the answer but just wanting to see if Zayn will just _look_ at him.

“Um,” Zayn’s eyes flicker to him. _(Success!)_ “ _Oblivion_ with Tom Cruise?” 

“It’s an advanced screener at that! Won’t be out to the public for a few days yet,” Perrie adds. 

“Oh, well I hope you enjoy it. Zayn, make sure you let me know if it’s any good, yeah?” Harry says.

“Will do.” Zayn gives him a tight smile. 

“Wait! Z, babe, why can’t Harry come with us? It’s a whole theater. We can sit behind him so he doesn’t’ have to watch us be all gross and make out during the boring parts.” She laughs.

“Harry doesn’t want to hang out with the boring likes of us, Pez. He’s probably got something wicked planned with like the Prime Minister or some such,” Zayn jokes.

“Nothing that grand, but yeah, I think I’m heading out with Niall tonight. He drank me under the table in Paris and I still haven’t been able to best him.” 

“Ohhh, Zayn told me about that, got a plaque for the number of shots he drank, yeah?” Perrie asks excited.

“Yeah, so you can see why it’s important that I avenge my good name.” Harry replies.

“You have fun, Haz… just not too much, yeah? Soundcheck is never fun with a hangover,” Zayn says seemingly relaxing a bit and offering a genuine smile.

“Ever the worrier, this one!” Harry says but he’s smiling too.

“Or worrywart, more like,” Perrie says, punching him playfully in the arm. 

“See you later, Harry.” Zayn says quietly over Perrie’s head. Harry offers a little salute in return. 

 

The next day in soundcheck, when they have a few moments to themsleves before Meet and Greet, Harry tracks Zayn to a small storage room to talk.

“If this is hard for you, we don’t have to do it anymore,” Harry says, sitting down beside Zayn. “This was supposed to make things easier, not add a whole lot of other issues.” He’s going for breezy, but even to his own ears he can tell he sounds melancholy.

“No, no, it has helped—immensely. To tell you the truth, Harry, I don’t even know why I acted that way. What we do is not the same as what I have with Perrie. It’s like apples and oranges. I guess it was just a shock to see you both at the same time, had to get my mind acclimated and all.” 

Harry nods. He knew coming into this conversation that _he_ wanted to continue, but he needed Zayn to feel empowered to end it, if need be. He’s relieved by Zayn’s answer, but there is something else underneath it. It’s like an itch that he can’t quite scratch.

“I can understand that. Just… if this ever feels wrong to you, don’t hesitate to tell me, ok?” Harry says quietly, offering his palm face up for Zayn to place his hand on top.

“Yeah, I will.” They head toward the door. “You’re a really good friend, you know that?”

“Yeah, actually. I was thinking of teaching friendship classes to be honest.” They snicker at each other and Zayn playfully swats Harry on the arm.

 

On Perrie’s last day, everyone knows they’re not going to see or hear from Zayn until soundcheck. Harry manages to fill his morning easily enough. All the while he whistles a tune that’s been stuck in his head for days. He has a feeling it’s going to grow into something; it’s a bit too jaunty, but for now it’s the perfect soundtrack to him putting on his workout gear and heading off the bus to the makeshift gym that has been set up in the venue. 

Liam is finishing up with Jarvis when Harry enters. Harry warms up with a light jog while he waits. He watches Liam executing a series of jabs, crosses, and upper cuts against Mark’s boxing pads. He ends with a powerful, lightening-quick combination that has him overbalancing and Mike has to steady him a bit. Harry has noticed the overall improvement in Liam’s technique. He’s always been as powerful as a Mack truck but now he’s lighter on his feet and confident and fast. Harry hopes he’s made similar strides with his own technique. 

“How you doing there, Rocky?” Harry calls to him. Liam’s responds with his happy puppy smile that Harry likes to tease him about. Liam walks over a bit winded and flushed and leans against the treadmill. Jarvis shouts him a greeting with vague threats about kicking his arse over the next hour while he gets the weights in order for their session.

“Hey, Hazza. Time to put in a little work, eh?” Liam says.

“Yeah that’s the plan.” Harry says, his breath picking up a bit as he jogs.

“Getting into anything tonight?” Liam inquires. 

“Don’t know, actually… you taking Dani out?” 

“Yeah, tomorrow night. I found this restaurant with a koi pond in the front. Made reservations and did all the security stuff.”

“Sounds nice. She’s gonna love it mate.” Harry says warmly.

“I hope so. See you later.” Liam throws up a messy little wave and turns to leave. 

Harry knows himself well enough to know that after the show he’s going to want to get out into the city. It had been a bit of a stretch sans break, but he could sleep when tour was over. While he’s musing about this, Jarvis comes over and starts increasing his treadmill intensity until he’s full out running on an incline. Harry focuses inwardly, aware of his exertion, of the jolt in his body when each footfall lands, his galloping heart, and the strain settling into his muscles. 

The show that night is phenomenal. Zayn, Louis, and Liam are truly on fire with their significant others in the audience. Their energy is so infectious that Harry can’t even feel deprived that he’s missing out on Zayn’s usual litany of suggestive commentary in his ears every few minutes. They do share a few absurd “what ifs” _(What if that dad who’s had 6 pints flashes us? What if that girl hanging over the lower balcony falls?)_ that make them cackle at each other and earn them an admonishment to _“please do pay attention, lads.”_ from Louis during Twitter questions. 

Harry has no reservations about going out on the town by himself, and that’s what he’s prepared to do until Louis suggests they all go out together.

“Family outing? What do you say, Harold?” 

“Sounds like a plan.” Harry says as he pulls a clean shirt over his head. He’s is not expecting for Zayn and Perrie to make an appearance but when they do he’s both pleasantly surprised and deeply unnerved. What’s more, Harry, Zayn, and Perrie are assigned to the last car with Niall. When Harry gets in, his eyes immediately light on Zayn and Perrie’s hands resting between them on the seat. For a long moment he doesn’t look anywhere else, but then Niall jostles him and informs him he’s responsible for the first round. 

Harry agrees amiably, and when he looks back across to the opposite seat, Zayn is looking directly at him. His face is unreadable but his posture isn’t. At some point during the day or evening, the easy intimacy that Zayn and Perrie had been sharing when they were together had frozen. Perrie looks preoccupied with something going on outside the window as the car snakes its way past the barrier and the fans lining the car park like spectators at a parade. 

“Don’t be worried, Pez our driver is a pro at this by now. You must be use to this yourself, huh?” Niall enthuses.

“No… not really. Our fans are great. Some are nervous, some are bold, but it’s—it’s _nothing_ like this. It’s like they’re hungering for you or something…” Perrie trails off with a little frown. Harry looks outside at the weeping, clawing girls and tries to see them through the eyes of someone who isn’t in this every day. He can’t. This is just what his life is. Their life. He looks back at Zayn. Zayn shows no signs that he ever looked away. 

Niall and Perrie carry on a subdued conversation, Niall‘s mirroring her energy instead of being his normal 1000 megawatt self. At different points in the conversation, Zayn or Harry will offer a sound of agreement or a quick word, but mostly they stare distractedly out of the window or at each other.

 

The club is jam packed. Everyone starts drinking straight away and after a few whiskeys Zayn and Perrie look as close as ever once again. She’s even got him up to dance. He’s making a mess of it but they seem happy. 

Maybe there had been no awkwardness in the car; maybe it had been all in Harry’s head. No matter, he’s had three tangerine and ginger margaritas and downed 4 shots of Patrón with Niall. Everything is a fuzzy and pleasant. He’d kissed a girl softly on the lips, not in a way that was leading to more but just as a hello. He’d lost track of that girl but now he’s dancing with another to _Candy Rain_ with his hands in the air. 

The song ends and they go head over to a corner of the VIP area to talk. They have to yell to be heard. There is an air of inevitability to it. He’s going to take this girl to the hotel. They are going to have sex. Harry will try to make it good for them both, and then she’ll leave him alone not to be seen or heard from again. Hopefully it won’t end with a tell-all story in _The Sun_ but he’s too gone to assess the likelihood of such a thing. The mere thought of it exhausts him. He’s certain Alberto will check her ID and politely ask for her phone when the time comes. He drops the hint that they should get out of there. She seems pleased by the suggestion. He excuses himself to the toilets, and makes a signal to Alberto that when he comes back they should head out.

When he stands up, the world’s on a tilt and he giggles. 

“I am so fucked right now,” he proclaims. His new friend—whose name he can’t quite recall--just laughs brightly at him. 

When he gets to the bathroom, he sways a little on his feet at the urinal, humming a bit of “The Happy Song.” It’s changed a little since the melody first came to him, not quite as cloying but still upbeat. He goes to the sink and washes his hands. Part of him doesn’t feel like leaving, just wants to let the cool water form the faucet sluice over his hands forever. He used to love this. Meeting a new person and learning just exactly how to take them apart with his hands and mouth and cock. Since when is hooking up a chore for Harry Damn Styles? 

It’s just that he’d gotten use to Zayn over the past several weeks. He’d liked every moment of what they did. There was no pressure or real awkwardness, no stakes. The best part was they already had such a connection; there was no need to attempt to cultivate a passable one in between drinks at a noisy club. From the moment that they decided to do this thing they were doing, they’d gotten on like a house on fire. A sweet smile spreads across his face remembering that first kiss in Zayn’s kitchen which seemed so long ago and every kiss since then, every touch, every groan, every--

Harry catches his face in the mirror – _really_ catches it. He closes his eyes and shakes his head once as if he can physically shake these thoughts from his mind. He splashes some water on his face, and realizes he’s a bit more sober than he was when he walked into the bathroom.

When he gets back out, he looks around. He can’t find Zayn or Perrie or his bodyguard, Andy. They were probably already on their way to drop Perrie at the airport. He collects his new friend – Siobhan is her name – and signals to Alberto. The only other person he sees before he leaves is Niall, who gives him a thumbs-up on his way toward the door. 

The night goes well. Harry empties his mind of everything that isn’t this lovely stranger’s body laid out before him. When it’s time to go, she leaves her number and tells him what a great time she had. 

The next day Harry is in the large banquet hall while Ben and his crew set up to shoot an interview for the movie. He’s hunched over his battered brown journal while everyone moves around him busily. “The Happy Song,” which has been needling him for over a week has some words,

_“You don’t understand what you do to me when you hold ~~her~~ his hand.,”_

The whole side of the next page is just one line chanted over and over again.

_“We’re on fire. We are on fire now.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, I was kinda disgusted by 1D and a large swath of their fandom this week but my ass put too much work into this not to finish and for the few of you who read it, it would be rude to leave y'all hanging. I really appreciate your encouraging words and fun conversations. 
> 
> I try really hard not to let my negative feelings for any real people who inspire these characters cloud my characterization. (I hope I did ok with Perrie here). For the last two installments I'm reducing Louis' role considerably. Liam and Niall are gonna be used a bit more even though it makes more sense canon-wise to use Louis. Just FYI.


	4. American Dreamin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zayn lets go.

_Remembering Summer ‘09_

It was a glitch. These things happened. Zayn was sure that it would stop completely once he lost his bloody virginity. There was no particular reason for him to have thought this, but he believed it all the same. The thing was, every now and again, from the time he started noticing such things, he would get distracted by boys in much the same way lads were supposed to get distracted by girls. He slowly made the realization that this wasn’t common nor was it particularly appreciated, so he kept it to himself. Girls were nice too, he supposed. Unfortunately, his feelings for boys seemed to intensify while his feelings for girls seemed to plateau. He would catch himself staring at some bloke’s Adam’s apple while he sipped on a beverage in the school cafeteria, or let his eyes follow the trail a droplet of sweat made down a man’s bare chest when he was sparring at the boxing gym.

It was for this reason that he was well practiced at keeping his eyes down whenever he had to change in a room with other boys. He would just focus on putting one foot into his trousers then the other, looking at the ground and keeping his breath even. It made it easier to survive gym class without being singled out or having to fight more than he already did. It would serve him well until one gorgeous July afternoon. Perhaps he was out of practice since it was the summer, but the slip up happened while he, Danny, Ant and their visiting cousin Omar were changing from their mosque clothes to their play clothes.

Something happened to make him look up, maybe a car beeped outside or a dog barked; Zayn couldn’t remember. What he could absolutely remember was the sight that greeted him when he did. Omar was talking animatedly, stripped down to his pants. He had been playing rugby at university for a year and his body was lean chords of bronze muscle. Unlike the rest of them in their shapeless boxer briefs, he wore tight high cut briefs that revealed every inch of his thick muscular legs and his long cock curled down between his thighs. Suddenly the room got intensely warm and Zayn’s head got all cottony. He turned to sit heavily on the bed and noticed right away that he was fully erect. He went to pull the basketball shorts he was about to put on over his waist, but his fingers were useless so they fell to the floor. 

”Hey,” Danny said as he approached him.

Danny placed a firm hand on his shoulder. Zayn looked up at him wanting so badly to come up with something, _anything_ he could say but his throat locked. Nothing. Zayn saw Danny’s eyes quickly take everything in; the panic in Zayn’s eyes, his erection, the way his hands shook in his lap like the broken wings of bird, and then his face softened. 

“Zayn, it’s ok. It’s fine. Don’t… It’s fine. Forget about it ok?” he whispered.

“Yeah,” Zayn breathed, stomach churning, but mustering enough control to retrieve his basketball shorts lying crumpled at his foot. He was vaguely aware of Danny distracting everyone with a story. It only took a few moments for Zayn’s body to calm down and stop reacting to Omar.

“Oi! Slowpoke, get your arse in gear!” he heard over his shoulder. When he looked, Omar was staring at him smiling bright and broad. Zayn’s stomach did a slow roll, but his willy didn’t react so wantonly. 

“You guys go, I’ll be down in a bit.” Zayn says weakly. Everyone began protesting until Danny spoke up.

“Yeah, let’s give Zayn a minute to get his damn clothes on.” 

Then he grabbed the football from Omar and thundered down the stairs. Omar was right on his heels. Zayn heard Ms. Riach yelling after them. Ant stayed behind and eyeballed him closely. Zayn could feel his head getting fuzzy again.

“I know what you’re up to.” 

“You do?” Zayn’s wheezed.

“Yeah, you’re trying to sneak and stay up here and sketch. I swear, Zayn, if you leave me to play football with them by myself I will never fucking talk to you again.” Zayn laughed a little hysterically and assured Ant that he would do no such thing. 

All told, it took Zayn less than five minutes to head out the front door. He could hear Ms. Riach yelling again about slamming her bloody screen door as he went to join the others. 

 

Zayn did forget about it. He kept his head down. Life continued. 

Later in the summer, when the back-to-school sales were being advertised in earnest, but there were still enough sweet, sticky afternoons between then and the beginning of term to keep Zayn from feeling any anxiety, it came up again.

As always, Danny and Ant were at his side. They had well over an hour before they had to be in the house for dinner and Zayn’s mum was making roti so the Riachs had already secured that invitation by midday. The subject had turned to comics, as it often did, but then it drifted to their favorite comic book shop and its owner, Kevin. 

Kevin had moved back from London to take over the store from his dad and he was the only gay dude that they knew. People would make remarks from time to time but it was pretty much understood that Kevin was ace.

“I saw him with this guy ’round closing last week, never seen him before. Said it was a friend visiting from London. You know what that means,” Ant said, making a crude gesture with his pointer finger going in and out of a circle formed by his opposite forefinger and thumb. “So crazy, man. I mean, you know I’m not like—people can do what they want. Kevin’s a cool guy but I just can’t imagine taking some guys prick up me bum,” he said, laughing at the thought of it.

“It’s none of our business, Ant. Leave it,” Danny grumbled, darting a quick look over to Zayn. Zayn wished he hadn’t, but luckily Ant wasn’t paying good enough attention as he continued to insist. 

“No, I’m just saying, I’m not like being homophobic or whatever. I just,” Ant paused to shudder in revulsion. Zayn could feel the color drain from his face.

“What would you even do without boobs? Like even little ones? Makes no sense to me,” Ant had concluded. 

Zayn had agreed and laughed weakly. He could feel the heat of Danny staring at the side of his face trying to make eye contact. Later Danny cornered him, as they were about to go out on their bikes.

“Ant didn’t mean anything by that earlier…”

“It’s fine. I’m not bothered, let’s just get our stuff…”

“It’s just—you should tell him, is all.”

“There’s nothing to tell.” He’d looked up and made sharp eye contact with Danny. “There’s nothing. At all. Just drop it, yeah?” Zayn climbed on his bike and started peddling in one smooth motion. He didn’t look back at Danny until he was sure his best friend had dropped his “understanding face” and the entire subject.

_Summer ‘13_

Zayn lays on his back and Harry lays across his entire body with his hair in Zayn’s face. Harry’s thigh is lying heavily across Zayn’s bladder, which will grow into a problem soonish, but Harry’s not snoring, and Zayn feels warm, content and wanted, so he stays where he is and allows himself to drift back into a light doze.

A half hour later, when he gently shoves Harry off of him to get to the toilet, the dream of that summer is still clinging to the edges of his mind. His dreams aren’t usually as straightforward. He hadn’t even thought about either of those days in years. 

He’s pondering this when he comes back out of the bathroom. Harry is awake and scrolling through his phone. His posture is not as loose as it should be after the session and the nap they just had. The mystery of that is solved with his next words.

“Your phone –you have a bunch of texts. Woke me up.” Zayn can already tell whom the texts are from and can already tell that Harry’s looked at his screen. 

“Thanks…sorry.” Zayn goes around to his side of the bed and looks down at his lockscreen, As he suspected, Perrie’s name is flashing. He unlocks it with his code and looks at what she has to say. None of it is too important, just cute little messages about how she misses him. She tells him she started a countdown to the next time they’re together along with a screenshot of the crude little calendar she drew. Zayn smiles down at it and saves it to his gallery.

Perrie hasn’t visited him in a while. He makes more of an effort to go see her now. One time he took four planes to spend ten hours with her. 

He puts his phone back on the end table and turns to Harry. 

“Did I ever tell you about the time Doniya stole my Action Man and ransomed him until I did the dishes for her?” They did this, comparing “Bully Older Sister” stories. Liam would contribute sometimes but his sisters largely busied themselves with each other, leaving Liam unterrorized for most of his formative years. Niall’s Greg stories were always physical tests of his mettle, but Doniya and Gemma excelled in ‘mental and spiritual warfare,’ according to Harry and Zayn.

It takes only a few moments for Harry’s distracted frown to give way to a sideways smirk and then finally melt into a big grin. He flops down onto the bed and turns toward Zayn. Zayn turns toward him and lies down too. They share a pillow because Zayn’s had fallen down the side of the bed. Zayn tells the tale, embellishing when it suits him, imitating Doniya’s high-pitched squeal as he lets his accent get all thick and curly. Harry brays laughter at all the right parts.

Things are different between them now.

Harry will party all night and come to breakfast all loose limbed and satisfied; Zayn will find himself getting snappish with him on those mornings or he’ll just avoid him altogether when he can. If Zayn gets a phone call from Perrie while he and Harry are in the same room, Harry will quickly find somewhere else to be. When Zayn’s done with the call or FaceTime session, he’ll go find Harry and listen to him while he talks about something Zayn doesn’t care about, or he’ll make him laugh Zayn tries not to think of it as making amends because that would be too much like admitting something. Avoidance seems like the best course of action. 

 

By the time Harry’s scheduled time in the studio comes, Zayn has told him two stories, Harry has shared four funny ‘baby-laughing’ YouTube videos and they have spent nearly a half hour working on mastering Stevie Wonder’s “As,” a song that Harry actually brought to Zayn’s attention and shamed him for not knowing. 

“What kind of R&B fan are you, Malik?” he’d said. Harry had admitted to Zayn that he only discovered it when he was trying to decide which Stevie Wonder song he was going to sing for his X-Factor audition. It was going to be “Ribbon in the Sky” up until the last moment, then he changed it to “Isn’t She Lovely”

As usual they struggle over the rapid-fire wording of the song. Even looking up the lyrics on Harry’s laptop doesn’t keep them from messing up and giggling through it. On the parts they do know, they really show off, allowing the sinews of their voices to wrap around each other. Zayn provides soulful riffs throughout and belts the closing ad-libs while Harry gives the song depth and body.

By the last day of the European tour, they have it down good enough to blow everyone away at karaoke, drunkenly high-fiving each other on a job well done. 

 

***********************  
“When you were little, dreaming of being a famous singer did you ever think that there’d be as many meetings involved?” Zayn asks Harry as he gets into Harry’s Ranger Rover. Harry snorts and then starts giggling and can’t stop. Zayn follows suit. 

When Harry texted him that morning and asked him if he needed a ride to Syco, Zayn said yes then promptly canceled the car he had ordered. The ride is pleasant. They sing along with the radio and Harry tells Zayn everything about the preparations for Anne’s wedding.

“Robin was pretty insistent on paying for the wedding itself, but I insisted on paying for the honeymoon. Told them it was my gift to them.”

“Smart,” Zayn comments.

“Yeah, I thought he might get weird with all the extra stuff I had added to the vacation package, but he was just excited.” 

“Yeah, I think with parents, it’s all about how you say it? Like it took me forever to convince my mum to stop working, but one day I just came up with the right words and she did. Manages all the charity stuff now. She loves it of course,” Zayn says. “My dad is another story,” he adds darkly. “He’s got a bad back but insists on bending over the hoods of cars and lifting heavy equipment all day.” 

“Yeah, my dad does all this consultant stuff for me for free and I tell him I can pay him but he acts like I insulted him,” Harry laments.

“Yeah,” Zayn laughs “Like, you did everything for me growing up, let me do this thing for you. It’s not that hard.” 

“Guess we should count our blessings. They could be as bad as Bobby.” Harry says. Zayn guffaws. 

“Yeah, remember when he had that plumbing issue and wasn’t even going to _tell_ Niall?!” Zayn says through his laughter.

“Oh god that was amazing! ‘Don’t worry, Niall. When me pay comes in I’ll take care of it, don’t get yer knickers in a twist, boy!,’” Harry mimics.

“Yeah, I believe he even gave Bressie a right bollocking for telling Niall!” 

“Parents are so weird. Parents, stepparents, the whole lot,” Harry concludes as the reach the parking lot.

 

They’re the first to arrive. An intern who is clearly doing everything in her power not to scream in their presence brings them tea while they sit in the conference room. The conversation turns to Miami. The bulk of today’s meeting is going to be Ben pitching the treatment he and Corden wrote for the ”Best Song Ever” video shoot. There are some details about the perfume launch and myriad other things, but the promo department is handling almost all of that.

“Miami’s gonna be—” Harry pauses to whistle and raise his eyebrows. “Can’t wait to be on that boat. Was looking at the brochure with all the features, and it’s gonna be wicked,” he continues. 

“Got some days in the hotel too though,” Zayn says quietly, lets the comment hang in the air between them for a bit before looking over slyly at Harry. Harry is grinning at him, full-on beaming really.

“Yeah we have that,” he agrees quietly and his look softens to the point that Zayn has to look away. It’s at that moment Liam comes in, followed by Ben.

“Well, look at you two early birds.” Liam says as they enter, ruffling both their hair. Harry preens while Zayn allows it but immediately tries to reshape his half-quiff with his hands. 

“Harry gave me a ride.” Zayn offers. 

“Ah, that explains it then.” Liam winks in the face of Zayn’s scowl. 

“I’m not always late Payno,” Zayn protests. He looks to Harry for backup and Harry is pointedly looking elsewhere.

“Et tu, Harry?” He laughs. “I see how it is then, I see.”

 

When Niall comes in warm greetings and hugs are exchanged, like all of them – including Ben - hadn’t just seen each other a week ago. When they are all present, the meeting starts straight away. 

As Ben plugs up his laptop and gets himself ready, Marco goes over the color coded fact sheets each of them needs to have for the perfume press conference. They had spent so much time developing the scent that they were all strangely proud of it. When the idea of a scent was pitched to them initially, none of them were all that buzzed but it did make good business sense. When Marco is done giving his spiel and fielding their questions, Ben gives him a thumbs-up and gets started with his bit of the presentation.

Twenty minutes and thirty slides of storyboard and concept art later, the boys are sat around the table talking animatedly about what they’d just seen. Niall is already in character, trying out different variations of the voice he’ll use. Liam has pulled Ben to him so they can talk more in depth, and Harry and Zayn are, once again, left to talk amongst themselves.

“You are going to look so. Fucking. Hot,” Harry leans right into Zayn’s space and whispers directly into his ear. Zayn squirms a bit.

“You’re not though,” he laughs, recovering from Harry’s breath licking at the shell of his ear. 

“I don’t mind being made ugly for my art,” Harry says haughtily. “Maybe between takes Vanessa will let me – regular me, not Marcel – ruck up her skirt and have me way with her,” he says, tittering at the thought. Zayn looks around the room for a second, eyes bulging. When he sees no one is paying them a bit of mind, he calms back down.

“Veronica, her name is Veronica. And she’s a goddamn lady, Styles, so don’t try any funny business.” 

“Her virtue is safe with me, Malik,” Harry responds with a hands-up, surrendering gesture.

“It better be,” Zayn says gruffly, but he knows he’s contradicting his words with his smile.

 

********************  
Miami is sweltering. It’s actually hotter than Mexico City was a week ago. 

“Oh dear god, it’s not even walking we’re doing, it’s swimming!” Niall declares as they make their way down the airport ramp. 

The boys have been teasing Zayn nonstop about being a sexy secretary. It doesn’t bother him so much, but he still hooks Niall into a headlock every time he gets too cheeky. Becoming a whole other person has always intrigued Zayn even when he was young doing school plays. 

There is a hospitality sweet set up their first night in Miami. Harry and Liam make a beeline for the massage tables. Zayn gets a hand massage and manicure. The others raid the snack trays for the fancy nuts and candy, but don’t take any interest in the services. Lou suggests Zayn have his body hair removed by the professionals so he’s nice and smooth. 

“But if I shave now I’ll have a full face by the time we shoot,” he says, confused.

“Not talking about your face, love.” She says with a wink. Zayn’s eyes grow huge. “No, no, no I’m not….Ben’s just gonna have to shoot me higher or give me a long skirt.” 

“Could be hot, you might like all hairless and soft,” Lou teases.

“Nah, I’m good,” Zayn says, then laughs. 

The show is tremendous. There is a whole different energy in the States. The crowds seem louder, the fans are bolder, and it’s all so mental. When they get to the hotel that night Zayn and Harry’s rooms are again adjacent to each other. Zayn goes in and heads straight for his balcony for a smoke. Harry is already out on his. 

“Hi,” he says smiling and offering a little wave. 

“Hey,” Zayn answers with his own smile. Zayn feels so good and free and excited for this week. They reach for each other over the balconies giggling at how they’re both just out of reach until Harry overbalances and there’s a terrifying moment where it looks like he’ll fall. 

“That’s enough of that, then,” Zayn says, looking around at their balconies with sudden mistrust. Harry laughs a big rolling belly laugh. 

“Are you scared, Malik? I’m fine!” he teases.

“Fuck off, Styles,” Zayn says, rolling his eyes and lighting his cigarette.

Harry draws his attention to the stars. Zayn’s breath catches. It’s been a while since he’s seen so many at once and he wonders how it’s possible in the middle of the city. Some of them look close enough for him to reach out and touch. 

“Looks like we’re not the only stargazers up, Zayn,” Harry whispers after a while. There are a few girls down in the in the courtyard below. They are trying to make just the right amount of noise to make him and Harry look without getting in trouble with security. Harry and Zayn wave and make faces at them for a while. The girls giggle and curl into themselves. Eventually they leave.

 

“Gonna head in, you coming over?” Harry asks.

“Yeah,” Zayn says, turning to go back inside. 

Harry is already naked by the time Zayn comes to his door. The curtains are drawn and they waste no time divesting Zayn of his clothes as well. This is the first chance they’re getting to do this in weeks. 

They lay on their sides, bodies pressed together, holding onto one another tightly.

“Can I try something?” Zayn whispers into Harry’s mouth.

“Is it weird?” Harry asks with a grin that tells Zayn the answer he is hoping for is “yes.” Zayn chuckles. 

“Maybe? I don’t know. If you like hate it we can stop,” Zayn says. Harry’s face remains open and expectant. Zayn takes it as his cue to ease up and roll Harry onto his stomach.

“Wait, are you about to violate your own first rule?” Harry asks even as is body remains pliant to Zayn’s repositioning. 

“Not quite,” Zayn answers and then kisses Harry on the back of the neck because he can. He reaches over for the lube and slicks himself up then instructs Harry to part his legs a bit. Harry does. Zayn straddles Harry’s legs then slots his dick in the tight space and pulls Harry’s hips up some. “Close your legs, Haz.” Zayn instructs. Harry does so with a long rumbling moan. Zayn’s cock is pushed snug against his sack and along his perineum. Before Zayn can even move, Harry is pushing his ass back and then forward getting a nice slide for them both. Zayn lets out his own moan. He allows Harry do it a few more times before pushing his thumbs into the crease where Harry’s ass meets his back and holds him down. With his new leverage he slides his cock slowly in and out, in and out. Harry seems content to be still, keeping his thighs tight around Zayn’s cock and whimper-moaning prettily beneath him. 

Zayn works up a good fast rhythm for a while, but he doesn’t want to come too soon so he slows down and lowers himself until he’s lying on top of Harry. Harry is able to move minutely and it’s enough. He pushes his ass back against Zayn when Zayn rolls his hips forward. Zayn slides his hands up Harry’s forearms until they can clasp their fingers together tightly while they move. It gets increasingly wetter with slick and sweat between Harry’s strong legs, and soon Zayn can hear the squelching sounds between the slap, slap of skin on skin. 

Harry groans with his mouth open while Zayn buries his whimpers in Harry’s neck. When Zayn climaxes it’s with a long, low groan as he douses Harry’s balls and inner thighs with come. Zayn sits back. He’s about to turn Harry over so he can suck him but Harry opens his legs wide and digs his knees into the mattress so he can move his hips in a circle, rutting against the sheets while Zayn’s come clings to him. 

Zayn is mesmerized by it. Even more, Harry’s thrusting reveals his pink hole to Zayn each time he pushes out. He wonders what it would look like with his come clinging to that as well. If his body was physiologically capable of producing another orgasm, he thinks it would. 

Harry would probably be up for it. Zayn had done it to Perrie a few times since he and Harry had started this. She seemed to endure it for him more than enjoy if for herself so he stopped initiating it. 

He instead started experimenting when he was alone, pressing a finger into himself while he tossed off. He’d been curious about what it would feel like to have something in him ever since he saw his first illicit skin mag as a kid. Before Harry, he would have never let himself do it, but one day he was feeling bold, so he went for it. At first it was too weird and he was feeling stupid. He almost stopped. But when he gets the angle just right, his orgasms soar from his body like fireworks and hum under his skin longer. 

Harry comes with four shaky grunts. Zayn lowers himself down over him and makes a trail of kisses from one shoulder across his back to the other. Harry reaches back and rests his right hand on the crown of Zayn’s head for a few beats while they breathe and calm down.

 

They retrieve the sheets from the couch and adjourn to the dry side of the bed. Harry spoons up right behind Zayn and he feels so comfortable and sated. 

“If I don’t go now, I won’t go,” Zayn whines groggily.

“Then don’t. Stay here tonight,” Harry says carelessly, like it’s easy. It isn’t easy, and Zayn starts to tell him this, but he stops when Harry snuffles into his hair and tightens his arm, pulling Zayn in closer to him. Zayn’s traitorous body melts into Harry’s and soon after, Zayn drifts off to sleep.

 

When Zayn wakes up it’s because Harry has knocked his golf bag over onto the floor with a thud. 

“I’m sorry, man,” Harry says. “I was trying to be quiet. You alright?”

“Yeah… I – oh.” Zayn remembers he stayed in Harry’s for the night. 

“There’s a good selection of tea over there in that hospitality basket, and some really good biscuits too,” Harry says as he ties the laces to his golf shoes. 

“Is Niall coming over then?” Zayn asks, moving to leave the bed.

“Nah, headed over to him. You can go back to sleep if you want. It’s early yet.” Harry comes over and kisses him on the top of his head, then smiles brightly. He’s whistling when he exits the door and closes it, leaving Zayn alone with his thoughts and their mingled sent all around him. 

 

***********************  
On the video set, Harry smiles when the others catcall Zayn, but he’s not quite as boisterous. He saves his comments for whispers between takes of him romancing ‘Veronica.’ His hands are possessive on Zayn’s body while they shoot. Zayn watches the dailies and the professional part of him can admire how well it’s reading on camera even as something in the back of his head is sing-songing _“Everyone will look at you two and knoooow!”_

“Uh, Haz, we still need to keep things PG, what are you doing?” Ben says with a laugh when Harry’s fingers stray too far below Zayn’s waist and their mouths get too close one too many times.

“Sorry, Benjamin. I was just getting into the character.” He smiles and winks at him over his shoulder. Ben rolls his eyes at him. Harry keeps putting his hands around Zayn’s waist and telling him that he never noticed how small it was before. 

“I guess the breasts really bring it out, huh?” Zayn says trying to keep it in the realm of jokes.

“I guess,” Harry says, not smiling or smirking, or grinning. Just looking. 

Harry doesn’t even have the decency to look ugly as Marcel. He looks just as hot with his hard slicked back hair and sweater vest than he ever does. The worst part is he seems to know it. At one point he walks right up behind Zayn and presses his semi into the back of his skirt.

“Do you think I should’ve worn pants?” he asks. “I was going to but then I changed my mind last minute, but seeing you like this is making me think I should’ve” He’s speaking in the tone of voice one might reserve for small talk about the weather, but he’s got his hands on Zayn’s waist, right above the hip pads that go with his costume. When he pulls Zayn back into him. Zayn finds himself rounding his ass just a tiny bit and pressing it back into Harry despite his better judgment.

“I don’t think pants are going to hide anything. Haz.” Zayn manages through dry mouth.

“Yeah you’re probably right. Definitely going to have to get off as soon as we’re back though. You up for it again?” Harry says.

“Uhuh,” Zayn answers moving out of Harry’s grip, knowing that if he starts getting hard it will be immediately visible. 

The thing is. Zayn kind of wants to pull his skirt up for Harry. He thinks about it to the point of distraction, in fact. Zayn has definitely had more than his fair share of desperate, fully clothed, skirt rucked up, knickers pushed to the side, hard, fast fucks. They’re exhilarating, and not for the first time in his life, he wonders what that would feel like from the receiving end. 

The day goes on and Zayn feels the intensity of Harry’s eyes on him all day. Despite Harry’s joking comments about going back to the hotel for some nice “manly” activities like watching sports and drinking beer, when they get to the hotel, the sexual tension between them is so thick, Zayn can barely breath. 

“Can we do the thing we did yesterday but switched?” Harry asks quickly between sucking kisses.

“Um—yeah, but…I was thinking maybe we could – my rule, the one I said in the beginning.”

“No fucking?” Harry asks.

“Yeah, I was thinking maybe – if you wanted to. We don’t have to though,” Zayn stammers in a rush.

“I,” Harry looks at Zayn for a long moment. “You want to fuck me?” He asks.

“No! I mean. Yeah I do, but I was thinking maybe the other way for now --? But like you don’t have to. Let’s just forget it. It’s weird. I don’t know why I –“

“Yes. Yeah. Let’s…” Harry cuts Zayn off and bends at the knee to scoop him up into his arms. Zayn wraps his legs around Harry’s hips and lets out a little relieved giggle. “Yes, yes yes yes yes yes,” Harry says as he walks them the small distance to the bed. Harry deposits Zayn on the mattress. He bounces a little and then Harry follows right after, covering his whole body and leaning down to make out with him hungrily.

“This is gonna be awesome!” Harry says, leaning up and looking down at Zayn like they’re about to embark on some fun adventure. That’s kind of what this whole thing has been like, to be honest. It’s become more than a comfort thing; they have _fun_. They try new things and keep doing things that feel good. Even this act that Zayn had built up in his mind as some massive undertaking seemed less intimidating with Harry’s sweet goofy smile and wandering hands all over his body.

“Why are we still wearing clothes?” Harry asks, and then without a moment’s pause, he strips down. Zayn laughs and does the same. When there is nothing between them, when it’s skin on skin, they slow down and savor the moment. Harry travels down Zayn’s body with his mouth. He lingers on his neck, then again at his nipples. Zayn makes encouraging sounds while Harry’s tongue caresses his skin and sets his nerve endings alight.

Harry makes a feast out of sucking cock. His first time proved he had a natural gift for it, and each subsequent time proved how much he liked it. He hums and moans around Zayn like he’s the one getting sucked. He lets his plump red lips hug the shaft while his tongue twirls and does all kinds of tricks. Zayn likes to watch him, tries to keep his eyes open against the onslaught of Harry’s mouth. 

Harry likes to be watched, so he smiles when Zayn props himself up against the headboard and puts a hand in his hair. 

“That taste good to ya?” Zayn asks, his voice gone deep and hard. Harry hums his enthusiastic agreement and starts humping the bed a little. Zayn can feel the precome seeping out of him into Harry’s mouth. He looks so sexy sucking Zayn’s cock and getting off on it, makes Zayn feel sexy too. He spreads his legs and bends the right one at the knee, making his hole accessible. Harry pulls off his cock stands on his knees to reach for the lube, then stops. Zayn looks up at him expectantly, then down where Harry’s rock hard cock is standing at eye level. The foreskin is retracted and the tip is wet. Zayn reaches up and jacks him a few times, watches more slick burble out of him. 

Harry leans down a bit. Zayn expects to be kissed, but Harry smiles crookedly and uses his finger to gather the moisture sliding down his shaft and rubs it lightly over Zayn’s hole. Zayn gasps and his mouth falls open. He’s always surprised by the new and nasty heights Harry is willing to climb. 

Harry massages more of his slick into Zayn but he doesn’t fully breach him until his finger is well lubricated with KY. The part of Zayn that still keeps his head down to keep himself safe is also telling him not to moan so loudly, not to be so eager to get fucked but it feels so good and Harry is staring at him like he can’t even comprehend how much he wants him.

“Zayn, god you’re so fucking gorgeous.” He says emphatically then pushes another finger inside him. Zayn lets out a sound like a sob and spreads his legs even wider. 

Harry goes back to swirling his tongue around the head of Zayn’s dick while giving him a proper fucking. 

“Wait, Haz, Haz, I don’t want to —not before you--” Somehow Zayn finds the strength to gently push Harry away from him.

“Alright, alright, I got you,” Harry soothes. He pulls off Zayn’s cock and sits back drinking him in. Zayn can’t look at him, can’t watch himself reflected in Harry’s eyes. He knows he’ll blurt out something stupid and complicated. Harry works himself up to three fingers before he’s reaching for the condom.

“Wait… It’ll be easier if you’re on your stomach, Zayn.” Harry pauses over him, lined up and ready to push in with Zayn on his back, legs spread.

“Don’t want easy,” Zayn grits out, pulling Harry’s hips toward him. Harry pushes in with a groan.

“Oh my _god_ ,” Zayn exclaims eyes clenched tight at the sensation of being filled. It takes Harry three long strokes to be fully seated inside Zayn. When he gets there, he simply pulses into Zayn the first few minutes. This gives him more time to bury his mouth in Harry’s neck before they switch positions and Zayn is on top. Harry holds firm to his hips, but lets Zayn set the pace and depth. 

Zayn presses down with his hands on Harry’s chest, helping him to maintain balance and get leverage. He stills himself when Harry decides he wants to fuck up into him while he keeps chanting “so fucking tight, so fucking tight, feels so good.” Zayn does wind up on his stomach in the end, Harry pounding his ass pretty firmly before coming with Zayn’s name on his mouth. 

He turns Zayn over and jerks him off while he licks and sucks the tip of his cock. Zayn’s whole body tenses when he comes in Harry’s mouth. Harry isn’t a big fan of swallowing, but Zayn never complains when he lets it run back down his cock and uses it as lube while he milks the last of Zayn’s orgasm from him. Harry keeps pulling at him until Zayn hisses and pushes him away. Harry comes up with a huge smile on his face.

“That was amazing,” he whispers dragging the second syllable out. “How do you feel?”

“Um, sore?” Zayn says, and they both laugh a little. “But good. It was good, Haz.” Harry takes Zayn’s face into his hands like he’s made of porcelain and kisses him deeply.

 

“What made you change your mind?” Harry asks when they’ve showered and are settled in for sleep. 

“I don’t know. Just curious, I suppose.” Zayn says.

“You just seemed so sure before… ” Harry replies.

“Yeah.”

“You’ve done it before, though? The other way. I know you hadn’t in the beginning but now…” Harry isn’t asking a question.

“Yeah. Does that bother you?” Zayn isn’t quite sure how to feel or what to think if the answer comes back ‘yes.’

“No, not at all. I’m glad you’ve broadened your horizons,” Harry says with a mischievous smile. Zayn just laughs. 

“We can do it the other way too. Makes sense that if I’m your first then you should be mine, yeah?” Harry says.

“Yeah, it makes sense.” Zayn agrees.

After that’s settled, their breathing slows and for the second time they spend the night together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hope you like this chapter. :) 
> 
> @mindizmyspear - twitter 
> 
> http://mindizmyspear.tumblr.com/


	5. Freefall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Successes and failures...
> 
> This chapter is almost twice as long as previous chapters.

_Remembering Summer 09_

They weren’t enjoying themselves, Harry could tell. Emily and Donna started making out at Emily’s birthday party to whoops and cheers. Their boyfriends, Sam and Elliot, had been beside them, with twin looks of pride, confusion, and jealousy flitting across their faces in intervals. They’d done it at every party for months; it’d become a bit of a feature really. A quick look around to his fellow spectators told Harry that if the routine of it was bothering anyone, they certainly weren’t showing it on their rapt faces.

Kaitlin came up and stood just behind him. 

“You boys really go for this, eh?” she says sounding bored. “They’re not even half as into it as you lot are,” she observed simply, hooking her sharp chin into Harry’s shoulder. She wasn’t jealous, just unimpressed. Harry was reminded why they’d been together so long. She was smart and direct on top of being one of the hottest girls in school. Also, she was absolutely right. It was disappointing that Harry knew the girls were going to pause to briefly rub noses before making a show of twirling the tips of their tongues around one another. It was really too bad because before Harry had seen how staged it was, he had enjoyed it.

“Now, if you and Jer made out, then _that_ would be something,” she’d whispered wickedly in his ear.” Harry’d laughed. Kaity hadn’t.

That’s how Harry found himself on the couch hours later, leaning toward his friend Jeremy, laughing but ready to do anything that would keep Kaity’s razor sharp gaze on him. Jerermy was red. The party was over and most of the partygoers had gone. Jeremy had said he wouldn’t do it in front of everyone. When it was time, Jeremy was being too jokey and loud. Harry knew it was because he was nervous but it was annoying anyway.

“Hey, calm down, yeah?” he whispered a moment before tilting Jeremy’s face up with his fingertips under the chin and placing a kiss on his slightly parted lips. Harry can hear Kaity’s best friend Cora hiss beside him, along with Kaity’s tiny. _”Oh my god…_ There was no spark in it for Harry, not really. He wasn’t into Jeremy at all. He didn’t rule out dudes completely, since he most certainly liked to watch the blokes from Queer as Folk simulate various sex acts on each other. 

Harry’s spark came when he felt Kaitlin’s fingers on the back of his neck like she couldn’t help but touch. Harry pushed more into Jeremy’s space, and pushed his tongue deep into Jeremy’s mouth. Jeremy responded readily, giving as good as he got. 

All the while Kaity was beside Harry dialed all the way up to a ten; he could feel her arousal radiating off of her while she watched him. There were multiple eyes on him and that knowledge flitted up and down his spine. 

 

A few weekends later White Eskimo played their third show down at the bowling alley and Harry was feeling rather invincible.

“We should totally give Em and Donna a run for their money,” Harry said bouncing his eyebrows in comic flirtation. “Might as well, right?” he continued. They were in his room popping the collars of their polo shirts and applying the requisite amount of Axe body spray before the after party at Sam Spivey’s place. Jeremy had snorted a laugh, and then his face had gotten serious.

“I can’t … Look you’re you, ‘cheeky Harry’ and that… I can’t do that kinda thing again without everyone starting to call me a bender,” Jeremy replied. 

“Yeah I was just playing around,” Harry remarked breezily. He wasn’t, actually. It convinced Jeremy enough to look relieved though. Harry wanted to see how he felt with a real audience, at the center of the party like Emma and Donna. All those eyes on him at once was a heady prospect. Then there was what was bound to happen at the end of the night; Kaity would no doubt ride him hard like she’d done after that first kiss with Jeremy. But none of that was going to happen, so Harry just pushed it from his mind.

_Remembering Summer ’12_

“What about her?” Zayn asked, pointing. Harry smoothly pulled his hand back down to his side before letting go and reaching for his drink. They were stood on a recessed balcony overlooking the pool area. It was all so new then that sometimes they would forget that even when there wasn’t a crowd in their faces screaming, they were probably still being watched and having their picture taken from afar. Harry inspected the girl in question. She had pretty, long blond hair that shined in the sun. Her legs were long and lean and perfect, but her face was pretty average. She also had a colorful half sleeve decorating her right shoulder down to her elbow, and when Harry squinted, he could see a piercing above her lip on the right.

“Not really. I mean, she’s okay,” Harry replied.

“Oh yeah, I forgot you don’t like girls with tats,” Zayn said. “Hers are quite sick though.” Harry gave a noncommittal grunt. 

“Pretty sure I’m going to get a sleeve some day. Will you stop thinking I’m beautiful, Harry?” He’d teased.

“With your eyes and cheekbones? Never,” Harry answered. Zayn giggled.

At that moment the girl they had been watching walked back from the bar to her friends. There were no real standouts among them for either Zayn or Harry so they kept scanning. After a few moments a girl – no, a woman--entered the pool area in a white string bikini. She had long raven hair with wide set almond shaped eyes that she quickly covered in Gucci shades. Zayn and Harry spotted her at the same time. 

“Wow.”

“Oh.” 

They turned to each other and laugh then turn back to the woman as she walks to the bar. She knew everyone was turning to look at her. She was the antithesis of their ubiquitous song, well aware of how genetically gifted she was, and unafraid to command the attention she was due. 

“Vas happenin, white bikini?” Zayn drawled.

“Now, that’s definitely worth going downstairs don’t you think?” Harry inquired smiling sideways. 

Harry‘s always up for going to the pool and the attention it brings but sometimes Zayn needs some cajoling. 

“Yeah, but like that’s just one bird, Harry. And no one else out there can touch her.” Zayn protested.

“So?” Harry says. 

“Well, you don’t have to ask my permission. Go down there; it’s whatever.” Zayn sounded a bit disgruntled and Harry was confused for a few seconds before he realized why. 

“No, Zayn, we’re going down there. Together,” he said slowly, pointing between them. “And we’re going to talk to her. Together. And she’s going to come up with both of us.” 

“Together?” Zayn squeaked, realization seeming to dawn on him.

“Together,” Harry had said with finality. Zayn started to fidget, which in turn, made Harry feel nervous. He really didn’t know how to read Zayn sometimes. There were moments when he looked at Harry in a way that genuinely felt he might be interested in more than just playing mutual wingmen. Other times he was closed off and laddy, or he’d look down right when Harry felt the pressure building between them. 

Harry had finally figured out that he was attracted to more than just girls. It should have frightened him that the first bloke he fancied with the same intensity he fancied girls was in a band with him. There were so many ways it could blow up in his face. The X-Factor house was so stressful and full of distractions that it was just something he recognized without having to think about it too much. Anyway, he was more attracted to Aiden back then, so he figured that the Zayn thing would just become pleasant background noise after a while.

He hadn’t figured that being in a band outside of the X-Factor house meant that they would still be spending practically every moment together, and he _really_ had not anticipated that Zayn was going to get exponentially hotter the longer he knew him. Harry figured it served him right since he had ample evidence from Yaser and Trisha that such a thing might happen. 

 

Being known as the ‘cheeky one’ allowed him to flirt outrageously with anyone who struck his fancy. Flirting wasn’t really the problem, however. Harry had been outright propositioned by blokes he knew he wouldn’t mind getting to know better, but there was too much to consider now that he was Harry Styles of One Direction. So, part of him was nervous about messing up a relationship with a close friend and coworker, but most of him was like ‘fuck it,’ as he stood on that balcony in Los Angeles next to someone he’d literally wanted since the first moment he’d laid eyes on him. 

“Haz?” Zayn questioned with a raised eyebrow, smile playing on his lips perhaps trying to gauge how serious Harry was.

“Might as well, yeah?” Harry said with the edge of challenge in his voice turning to look him squarely in the face.

“Don’t think I won’t!” Zayn responded, puffing himself up a bit. 

Harry grinned, making a point to trail his fingertips across Zayn’s waist as he turned and walked toward the patio door. 

 

They caused a bit of a stir when they get to the pool area, but nothing major. They took a few photos and signed a few bits of napkin and the backs of receipts. It was clear by the smirk on her face that the woman – Alita--knew she was their intended target from the moment they came outside. Harry did most of the talking while Zayn excelled at looking beautiful and hopeful and shy. She was a 25-year-old office manager from Pittsburgh on vacation with friends, all of whom were too hung-over to come downstairs to the pool with her. She knew who Harry and Zayn were, but didn’t seem overly impressed by it. In other words, she was perfect. Everything was going incredibly well before Paul swooped down on them as they were heading to the elevator. Harry wanted to stand his ground, but by then Alita was already kind of laughing at them, so he gave up. 

Paul escorted them to their room and Harry nearly had another ‘fuck it’ moment and initiated something with Zayn, but he realized how reckless that would be so he willed himself calm.

_Summer ‘13_

Harry likes it slow. Likes when they just melt into each other. He prefers not getting fingered too long, wants Zayn to open him up on his cock, which Zayn always does with great care. Harry keeps running his fingertips over Zayn’s hip tattoo. He’s felt a sense of ownership over it since he stood over Zayn in a New York hotel suite watching him get it. Zayn is rolling his hips forward slowly and shallowly while Harry hisses and moans. A few more thrusts and Zayn is all the way in him, hip right on top of hip. He stops to look down at Harry, then starts torqueing his hips counter clockwise while he sighs at the feeling. Harry catches a chill all over his body, can’t stop his quivering bottom lip until Zayn leans down and kisses it softly. Harry stops tracing Zayn’s tattoo and instead hooks his fingers around the small of his back and pulls Zayn down to lay over him. They’re always grateful when they can take their time with each other and swallow each other’s moans.

 

**************************  
They’re making their way from the stage to the bus in a loud tumble. Liam is yelling after Louis because he’s stolen his bandana from his back pocket. Their team flanks them so that no matter how riotously, they make it down the stairs and onto the bus without any of them detouring to parts unknown.

“You’re sweeter than any candy,” Zayn whispers in Harry’s ear as he pulls him back against him while they walk. Before Harry can respond, Niall starts yelling at them.

“Holy shit you guys! Every time I do me speech it’s always something, but you two took the cake tonight for sure.” 

“You didn’t see if from where you were, Niall, but it proper needed a parental advisory sticker on it” Liam remarked. “These two,” he says shaking his head and reaching over to grab at his bandana once again.

Zayn and Harry chortle like hyenas over it. This thing between them sometimes spills out on stage or when they are around the others; but watching Zayn’s slightly wet, parted lips coming toward his crotch while his thick-lashed eyes close demurely and a crowd of thousands scream approval hits Harry hard in his most prevalent kinks.

He felt like he recovered well, taking the air out of it by mugging at the crowd and genuinely laughing at how ridiculous the whole situation was, but he feels trapped when he realizes that they’re all on the same bus tonight so there is no chance of Harry and Zayn getting off. They do manage to stay close to one another and sleep in the back lounge under the auspices of watching a movie. 

It takes them three days to grab some time alone. They find a derelict supply closet and no sooner does Harry turn the lock than Zayn is on his knees. He unzips Harry’s jeans and pulls his cock and balls through so he can lick and suck and tease for a bit. Harry loves every second of it, especially since Zayn is looking up at him the whole time through a canopy of thick elegant eyelashes, but they don’t have a lot of time. 

“Zayn, fuck--we gotta--” Harry can’t form a thought but Zayn seems to understand anyway because he immediately stretches his lips around Harry’s cock tightly and encourages Harry to fuck his mouth by pulling his hips forward. Harry places one hand around Zayn’s throat and the other on the top of his head as he pumps his dick in and out of his mouth fast and shallow. 

He looks down and can see Zayn’s shoulder jumping at lighting speed while he gets himself off. When Harry comes, Zayn opens his mouth enough so Harry can see it on his tongue and lips and dripping from his bearded chin. 

“Fuck, Zayn!” He wipes at Zayn’s face with his hands, laughing. 

“Shhhh,” Zayn says smiling and produces wet wipes from his back pocket.

“Always be prepared, Haz.” Harry is so tickled, his laughter is a roar.

“Keep it down, will you,” Zayn whisper-yells while cleaning Harry’s jizz off his face and his own off his hand. Harry watches him as he sobers, snickering and giggling intermittently. When Zayn is done cleaning himself up, he and Harry do take a few moments to kiss. Harry gives Zayn a piece of gum and pops one in his own mouth before they go out into the hallway and head in opposite directions.

 

**********************  
They are always busy. The film is coming out so they have to watch all iterations of it, ostensibly to “approve” it. They pour over the first cut from Spurlock together, taking extensive notes and organizing them. Niall is the fastest typist so he handles that bit. They email it to Simon and all the other executive producers, but it comes back with half of the more introspective footage cut out in favor of more crying fans and intimidating shots of the crowds they draw. 

Mandy begins to launch into an explanation which they know from experience will contain lots of buzzwords and dry data from focus groups,. so Liam cuts her off politely and lets her know that they understand. From then on it’s just a matter of them making sure things aren’t glaringly unbalanced. Spurlock stays chipper but periodically lets slip his disappointment at “missing some of the best bits, guys!” 

There is a lot more press in America. Being on their grind means that missed meals and even less sleep than usual has them all on edge. 

When they finally get two days off in a row, Zayn goes home to Perrie, and Harry is reminded again about what they are and how disparate that is from what it feels like they are when they’re alone. Harry makes a last minute decision to spend his two days in LA with Cal laying low, watching more sports than he’s seen all year and keeping to his rather grueling jogging routine under the California sun. 

When they return to tour life, Harry feels like he and Zayn’s effortless chemistry seems to have gone jagged. They have always been very separate people with different interests, but that’s never stood in the way of their connection, not even before they started this thing. Now it almost feels like they’re repelling each other. 

Harry finds he’s going out even more than usual, meeting more people, getting a bit too drunk, and having his picture in all the reputable and disreputable entertainment sites. He notices Zayn getting a bit more withdrawn and quiet when they’re all together, taking more frequent smoke breaks, and taking his go-kart out by himself for long stretches of time while the fans scream and cry for him through the gates. 

On a rare morning they have off before a show night, Harry just goes and knocks on Zayn’s hotel room. Zayn answers the door with the rumpled, hazy cast of the freshly awakened. Harry is reminded of the time months ago when Zayn showed up at his hotel door after a few days’ break. That day seems so long ago, Harry can’t even remember in what country they were at the time. This thing was still new and they’d jumped back from the edge of a cliff. 

“What’s up, Haz?” His voice is mild. Harry starts to reach for him but remembers hallway cameras hidden in mirrors and stops himself. Zayn’s face is more open than it usually is when his sleep is disturbed. 

“Can I come in?” Harry asks softly.

“Yeah, yeah, come on.” Zayn says muzzily and steps aside, allowing Harry to pass. 

“You okay?” Zayn asks when they settle on the couch. 

“Little hung over, to be honest.” Harry answers.

“Yeah, how was the Stones? Did you meet your long lost dad?” Zayn teases.

“No, I met Ronnie and his family, but Mick kinda slipped off. I don’t know what happened.” Zayn’s eyes twinkle when he laughs and it’s Harry’s favorite thing about him maybe. Zayn reaches his hand out and Harry leans into it, closing his eyes when Zayn slides his fingertip down the side of his face from his brow to his chin then pulls his hand back and lays it in his lap.

“I’m kinda wiped out, I don’t think I can--” Zayn begins.

“No, it’s fine I just. There’s just a lot of alone in my room right now, ya know?” Harry says. Zayn startles a little at the admission, then nods his head in understanding.

“And you’ve seemed kinda down…” Harry says, trailing off.

“Yeah, maybe.” Zayn admits. The silence afterward feels heavy.

“When’s the last time you talked to your little sisters, Zayn?” 

“I saw them,” Zayn pauses to yawn hugely until his eyes water. “Went back to Bradford this trip.” Zayn shrugs and seems to get lost in thought. Harry gets up and goes over to Zayn’s laptop set up on the desk. 

"It's been a couple weeks then, yeah?" Harry asks gently. Zayn seems to realize how log ago that break was and nods in realization.

A few minutes later, they are Skyping with Zayn’s little sisters. When Saffa sees her big bro is with Harry she is reduced to a red-faced pile of giggles. Waliya looks woefully embarrassed and long suffering about Saffa’s terminal lack of chill, even though everyone knows if it were Liam with Zayn in place of Harry, she’d be the who couldn’t keep it together. The girls are happy. Zayn can’t stop commenting on how grown up they have gotten. 

“Waliya, you look like a proper little lady and everything!” He sounds astonished and a little sad to Harry’s ears. Waliya rolls her eyes and calls Zayn a dope, of course, but she follows it up with an embarrassed giggle that sounds so much like a girl version of Zayn that Harry finds himself achingly endeared.

The girls are headed to the mall so they have to get ready. Harry wanders to the other side of the room so they can exchange soft loving words in Urdu before saying goodbye.

“Thanks for that reminder, Haz. I needed that.” Zayn says while stowing his computer away.

“No problem, man.” Harry says.

Zayn gets quiet and preoccupied again. Usually, they can be alone and quiet together, but Zayn is closed off in a way that reminds Harry of when they first got together as a band. Harry finds it unnerving because a two day break shouldn’t have made this much of a difference.

“Well, I guess- I guess I’ll go then?” Harry half asks, half states.

“I was going to get some more sleep. I’ve been tired lately,” Zayn says, looking apologetic but not inviting Harry to kip with him, or even really looking at Harry at all. 

“Okay, well, I’ll… see you in a bit, then,” Harry says, unsure. 

“Yeah,” Zayn says smiling drowsily. Harry wants to kiss him so he just goes with his ‘fuck it’ instincts and leans forward. Zayn is responsive, even places his fingers on Harry’s waist. Harry let’s his lips linger on Zayn’s for a few moments, then pulls back, smiles awkwardly, and leaves.

Uneasiness sits in his gut all day until they get on stage. Zayn seems to be back to himself, getting fresh and handsy with Harry on stage, talking shit in Harry’s ear, so Harry tries to push the awkwardness of the afternoon out of his mind, convinced he imagined most of it. 

Zayn makes plans with Louis to smoke up, which isn’t all that surprising so Harry asks Lou if she wants to get a late supper. Harry makes some calls to friends in D.C. asking them if they know of anyplace cool to go in Maryland. He gets multiple suggestions for a nameless speakeasy with a burlesque cabaret. 

 

“Going out with you is always an adventure,” Lou laughs as they make their way from the car over to the nondescript warehouse door, their arms linked with her tucked in close. Edward walks behind them dutifully while Paul leads the way, looking all around them with sharp eyes. 

“Christ, Harry, pick a dodgier neighborhood next time, would ya?” he mutters under his breath as they reach the door. Harry steps forward and knocks, excitement building. 

“What do you want?!” someone shout-growls from behind the door.

“I drink to paradise, and death, and the lie of love,” Harry calls back then looks over at Lou with a wink.

“Jaysus,” Paul says rolling his eyes hard while the warehouse door rumbles open. 

The inside is an opulent affair completely at odds with the grunge of the exterior. There is no VIP but they get a booth and no one seems to know or give a fuck who Harry is. Anonymity is always a nice surprise, as much as Harry loves his life and having eyes on him. They eat and drink like lords and just enjoy one another. The burlesque show is tame compared to the shows at The Box, but the girls are beautiful and lithe so Harry can’t complain. 

Paul and Edward stay sober so they can shepherd a giggly and drunk Harry and Lou back to the hotel without incident. Harry thinks about going straight to Zayn’s room and telling him that the past week has been rubbish, that he wants to fall asleep pressed up against him and wake up early enough to ride his cock before bus call in the morning. Harry can’t remember Zayn’s hotel room number so he decides to call down to the front desk and ask for it. He forgets that plan and winds up falling asleep fully dressed, half on his bed and half off of it. 

 

The next day Harry trudges on the bus still feeling a bit worse for wear. When Paul is readying the bus to pull off Harry asks where Louis and Zayn are. Niall tells him they already boarded Bus 1. The uneasiness is back just like that. There’s no real reason for it, but Harry can feel it all the same. When he plops down on the front lounge couch and the bus finally gets underway, Harry starts thumbing through his twitter feed lazily. Everyone seems to be excited about something and after a few moments he sees what it is.

There is a picture of Zayn on his bunk with a fresh tattoo of Perrie along his bicep. First Harry just thinks it’s one of those Photoshop deals, but that fiction lasts for all of twenty seconds until he googles, and sure enough, he finds a Mirror article:

**_Zayn Malik Gets Perrie Edwards Tattoo_ **

Harry’s mind starts to riot. Suddenly Niall’s usual morning chatter and guitar strumming is making him feel on edge. He heads back to the bunks and climbs into his then reads every word of the article.

Okay. 

He’s fine. 

This is to be expected. Zayn loves Perrie and wants to be with her. That was the reason they started this thing to begin with. It was a way for Zayn not to hurt her. Harry is almost certain he is not allowed to feel this feeling that is spreading out from his chest into every part of him. Unfortunately he’s powerless to do anything about it. 

They hit a spot of traffic so he has a little bit longer to get himself back under control. Harry is excellent at self-preservation. He closes his eyes tight and breathes. All the times Cal has told him to exist in his sadness, to breathe into the part of the body where it sits, come back to him. It doesn’t work this time. In a few moments he is going to have to face Zayn and he is going to have to be whole when he does.

In the back of his mind he always felt that Perrie was Rebecca, or Natalia, or Michelle, Geneva, Ellen, or Kenya, or so many others Harry’s forgotten the name of. Perrie is not any of them. Zayn has every intention of keeping her. She wasn’t supposed to be permanent, not like the band, not like Harry. 

This is heartbreak. 

Harry is heartbroken. 

Harry is heartbroken over Zayn. 

Harry is heartbroken over Zayn because he is in love with Zayn. 

He opens his eyes. He visualizes his feelings hardening into a crystal and he shoves them down where he can keep them quiet. He can deal with this. 

 

The bus trundles up to the service entrance and parks. Despite coming from the bunks, Harry is the first one outside. He finds Zayn having a smoke with Louis by the loading dock. He goes right over to them.

“Morning, Harry,” Zayn and Louis say in unison. 

“Morning,” Harry says. He lifts Zayn’s arm up and continues. “Good ink. Really nice lines.” He’s not looking at the tat, he’s looking directly into Zayn’s face while Zayn looks over his shoulder back toward the buses. “You drew it, yeah?”

“It’s based on a sketch of mine,” Zayn says, shifting his gaze to Harry. His eyes are plaintive and so, so beautiful. Harry holds his gaze for a bit and then finally does take a look at the tattoo. It really is nice work. He drops Zayn’s arm and goes back to looking into Zayn’s face. 

“Harold, I’m feeling neglected over here,” Louis says. Harry glances over at where Louis is pointing to his own new ink with an impatient, expectant look. 

“Yeah, it’s wicked, Louis.” He looks back at Zayn one more time “Gonna get some breakfast,” he mutters and walks away. 

 

No sooner does Harry sit down with his beans and toast does Zayn show up right beside him with his customary Weetabix.

“Did she ask you what you’d done wrong?” Harry asks. Zayn stops mid movement then continues seating himself next to Harry on the bench.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“It’s just such a grand gesture. I was just wondering if she thought you were atoning for something.”

“Don’t do this, Harry.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” Harry pauses, takes a deep breath and makes eye contact. “I’m sorry, Zayn.” Zayn gives a head nod in acknowledgement and they both turn back to their food. 

“It was just a lark really. I didn’t plan it. We were blazed. At first we were just going for some fried chicken. Then we drove past this shop,” Zayn says. “Had the pic in my phone. Seemed like a good idea.”

“Well it’s really nice. I’m sure she’ll love it.” Harry gets up abruptly. “Gonna go see what Louise is up to,” is what he offers in place of “goodbye.” 

“Yeah, Haz, I’ll see you later,” Zayn says, the last three words trailing in the wake of Hary’s retreating back.

 

The thing is Harry is not an angry person. He can _get_ angry and disappointed and indignant, but those emotions don’t stick to him for long. They don’t hang around in his psyche growing into resentments or regrets. He credits his mum for that.

“Sometimes you have to laugh to keep from crying, but mostly you just gotta get on with it, yeah,” Anne would say when she was feeling a little maudlin. She worked so hard in the years after Harry’s dad left, so on her more down evenings, Harry would run her a bath and tidy the house a bit while she soaked. Most of the time the night would end with a game of Scrabble and a cuppa. 

Harry is his mother’s child in so many ways, and his resiliency is the thing for which he is most grateful. Zayn and he had an agreement, and certainly it would have been awesome if Zayn had used his words to tell Harry that the agreement was no longer necessary instead of letting awkward distance and ink do it for him, but Zayn has never been brave.

No, that’s not fair. Zayn has a lot of fears, but he’s not a coward. Even when he’s feeling his most unsteady, he’ll give a thumbs up and “I’ll give it a go!” Usually he rocks it. 

Harry loses an unspecified amount of moments thinking about all the times that Zayn has unabashedly shown him and the other lads vulnerability coupled with strength. When he realizes what he’s doing he has to laugh at himself and if the last few chuckles sound a bit watery, that’s fine because there is no one around to see.

 

Bus 1 becomes a thing. The two band buses had started as a way to have a chill, quiet, smokeless bus as well as a bus where playing amateur DJ ’til all hours was perfectly acceptable, but Bus 1 unofficially becomes Zayn and Louis’ bus while Bus 2 becomes Harry and Niall’s. Liam bounces back and forth according to his mood.

Harry and Zayn are more guarded with each other on stage. Harry’s desire for Zayn has not abated. He wonders if Zayn ever wants him anymore. He doesn’t dwell on it. He wants to believe he was more than just tension relief for Zayn, but he’s unwilling to ask so he tries to put it out of his mind. 

New York comes at a perfect time. Sometimes long stretches of touring feel like being in a bubble. It’s good so they can focus, but coming to a place like NYC always reminds him how much interest there is in him and the band. The Corden family are vacationing and Harry hasn’t had any time to spend with the new baby, so they all go shopping together. The paparazzi and gaggles of fans follow him like always. When the Cordens retire to their hotel suite, Harry has a battery of other friends to call for a night on the town. He starts with Marta because he knew she was in town.

Marta is an LA-based model that Harry met in London at a wine tasting a year ago. They had hit it off early in the evening and had bailed on the stodgy event. She was still trying to learn more about the London scene, so he showed off by taking her to Sketch. 

He likes her because she’s fun, fully willing to dance on a table if the spirit hits her, but she’s also thoughtful and well read. She tells the best stories, sometimes forgetting the English word for something and grumbling in her native Montenegrin until Harry can supply it for her. The press call them on-again-off-again, but really they’re just friends with very athletic and exuberant benefits.

 

“Since when are we even in the same country anymore, Harry?! I was just google stalking you and here you are! You’re still here right?” Marta shouts down the phone when he calls her.

Harry is already laughing, the pressure in his chest is loosening, and he realizes he’s going to have an excellent night. He takes her to the Russian Tea Room for dinner then clubbing at one of his favorite New York clubs, Therapy. Headlines and pictures start showing up even before they’ve stumbled back to the Soho House together.

_**Are Harry Styles and Model Marta Ivanović Poised to Reconcile?** _

_**On-Again Couple Styles and Ivanović Looking Dapper as They Step Out** _

_**Styles Takes Ladylove to Popular Gay Bar** _

It’s fun and uncomplicated, which is exactly what Harry needs to get his mind off Zayn. In the morning they eat omelets and fruit naked in bed and watch cartoons. By the time Harry’s car drops him at the venue, he feels mentally prepared to see Zayn.

Zayn had just parked his ATV to have it stowed away by the techs and was carrying his helmet under the crook of his arm, looking like the only thing Harry ever wants to see.

Harry offers a hello as he passes, but Zayn calls out to him. 

“Harry, wait up a sec.” He’s walking so fast that Zayn has to jog a bit to catch up. “Been trying to reach you all morning. Louis texted you too.”

“Oh?” Harry pulls out his phone and sure enough, there are messages in the chat he hasn’t reviewed. 

“Yeah, the guy, Cliff? Remember him from the yesterday? He said he can get us a boat tomorrow morning—”

“I have a brunch with the Cordens–” Harry cuts in.

“Early,” Zayn says in quick reply. “We wanted to go out early. Maybe fish? Well Liam anyway. He’s the only one who isn’t pants at it.” Zayn makes a goofy hopeful face and Harry wants to kiss him. Harry always wants to kiss him, is the thing. He thinks for a moment and then suddenly remembers something he heard from Caroline.

“So… I know you’re expecting some company…” Harry begins.

“Later in the day, it’s going to be strictly lads like the last time,” Zayn assures him, going so far as to touch Harry’s arm. The warmth of his palm momentarily distracts Harry.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll make sure I’m there. Text me the time I need to be up to get the car.” Harry says, remembering Miami and how the sea smelled. They had stolen quick kisses below decks, excited to be getting away with something. He’s not sure if that’s on the menu for tomorrow but the memory is sweet enough for him to be hopeful. As he’s walking away he remembers how on the boat in Miami, Zayn pulled him close and whispered about how he could still _feel_ Harry from the night before. Harry catches chills and can’t wipe the smile off his face for anything.

 

*******************************  
Not even Liam winds up fishing. They just kick back and relax as they take in the early morning sun. There are a couple of business related things they half talk about, but mostly they want to forget work for a couple of hours. Harry and Zayn do find a moment to be alone at the stern while the others are up front. 

“I feel like it’s been so long since we had a moment, yeah?” Zayn says wistfully.

“Not by my choice.” Harry says with a shrug. He places his hand on the railing and looks straight down at the path the boat is cutting through the ocean.

“I know,” Zayn says, placing his hand over Harry’s lightly, as if fully prepared to snatch it away if Harry rejects him. Harry instead stretches his fingers out and up, latching his to Zayn’s and squeezing. Zayn squeezes back and lets out a big breath that Harry suspects he had been holding since he came to join him moments before. Zayn uses his thumb to stroke back and forth over Harry’s as they look out over the water. “I don’t always know what’s right to do,” he admits. 

There’s nothing really to be said about that so Harry just lets the statement lie. They still haven’t let go of each other’s hands. 

“Have a good night last night?” Zayn asks. 

“Yeah, it was really good.” Harry is not going to make this easy for him. 

“How is Marta?” Zayn asks running out of pretense steam immediately.

“Really great. She asked about you. I told her you were well.” 

“Well that was nice of her. We only met that one time…” 

“Yeah, but you made an impression. She doesn’t really say your name so I don’t know if she knows it, but she just calls you ‘the hot one.’” Harry says with a teasing smile.

“Ha ha jokes!” Zayn laughs jostling Harry lightly. “Well it’s nice of her to ask about me anyway.” Zayn responds.

“Yeah,” They’re silent for a few moments.

“Do you see this going somewhere? You’ve been seeing each other for a while, right? Maybe time to make it official huh?” Harry abruptly pulls his hand away from Zayn and looks at him directly.

“Don’t do that,” he says plainly.

“Do what?” Zayn looks stricken.

“Try to fob me off on her to make yourself feel better about ending our arrangement. Marta and I will always be friends and nothing more. We like it that way. She’s not some consolation prize, and if she was she’s not one you could offer me.” Harry is not one for conflict generally but he can be direct and brave with his feelings when he needs to be.

“I wasn’t … I’m sorry. I just want you to be happy.”

“I am,” Harry responds immediately. “I mean generally. I’m really happy. Sometimes I get disappointed or sad but that’s life. I don’t need anything to fix that.”

“I don’t want to end it,” Zayn blurts out. Harry counts his breaths. He gets to five before Zayn speaks again. “Haz?”

“Yeah, I heard you.” He takes refuge in looking out at the sea again. “Okay, you don’t want to change anything? I thought—”

“That I was acting like an ass and wanted it over? Well, you might have a point about me acting like an ass but … I don’t want it to be over,” Zayn admits.

“Yeah, okay. Okay. But we’re friends and if this is putting a strain on our friendship then—”

“It’s not! I messed up and I’m sorry. Shutting you out was shit.”

“It was.”

“And I’m not going to do that again.”

“You said that the last time you got weird.” Harry looks at him again. “I’m not trying to accuse you of something. I just don’t want to ruin us or the band,” he explains.

“I know, I know. What if I promise you that I won’t get weird again and if I do you can— you can say a word and I’ll remember and stop it,” Zayn offers.

“So a safe word for if you’re being stupid then?” Harry asks.

“Yeah? Sorta, I guess?” 

“Bloody brilliant. Deal,” Harry says offering his hand. Zayn shakes it firmly. The irony is not lost on Harry that he’s insisting on honesty from Zayn when he’s keeping the secret of being in love with him. 

“Umm, what should the word be?” Zayn asks.

“Always,” Harry says immediately. Zayn’s smile splits his face and his eyes dance. The words “I love you” are on the tip of Harry’s tongue. Zayn steps right into his personal space and sings lowly. 

“Alwa-a-a-a-ays—”

“Until the dolphins fly and parrots live at sea,” Harry sings in response.

“Alwaaaaaaaaaaaays.” Zayn’s run dips up into his higher register and Harry knows he means business. Not to be outdone, Harry adds a bit more growl to his next line.

“Until we dream of life and life becomes a dream,” he nearly shouts.

When Liam comes back to yell at them for being “antisocial and weird,” they are full on two-stepping from side to side, singing “As” in their full voice. 

 

The last show at Jones Beach is fantastic. It’s been a while since Perrie’s been around but she and Harry enjoy pleasant conversations as always. Much to Soho House’s chagrin the girls have found out that Harry is staying there so he literally has to climb the side of the stairs to get inside when he returns after the show. 

Harry stays in New York and attends a few Pride parties with friends, does a fair amount of shopping, and soaks in the energy of the city. 

When he meets back up with the band in Montreal, Zayn is a sight for sore eyes. They steal a sliver of time to make out lazily for a few moments as a hello.

“I saw you went on a hot date with Liam. Did he get fresh with you? Do you want me to talk to him?” Harry asks, remember the article he saw about them renting out a theater to show an advanced screener of Pacific Rim. Zayn makes a face of disgust. 

“Liam is my brother, don’t ever say that again, Harry!” Zayn protests and punches him on the arm. Harry cackles while he rubs the sore spot. 

Harry’s cousin Sam is scheduled to arrive the next afternoon, so they spend nearly all night making up for lost time. It starts when Zayn is trying to play mixologist in his suite. One minute they’re exchanging thinly veiled innuendos and challenging looks, the next Harry has Zayn bent over the bar moaning and three bottles of top shelf liquor have fallen to the floor, their contents soaking into the carpet. Harry comes first, so they adjourn to the bed where Zayn lays down with his legs spread and Harry thrusts three of his long fingers inside to massage Zayn’s prostate. He was so close to the edge that it only takes a few moments of Harry’s aggressive fingering and Zayn’s eager hip thrusts before Zayn’s prick stiffens and spills his seed across his taught abdomen while he lets out a long guttural groan. Harry’s eyes go wide.

“Zayn, oh my god, Zayn! That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever… I didn’t know that could happen.” Zayn smiles, eyes half-mast and pulls Harry down to kiss him. When Harry pulls back, he’s still looking down at Zayn like the eighth Wonder of the World. Zayn dips his finger into the spunk cooling on his belly then places it in front of Harry’s mouth. Harry sucks the digit down with little hesitation, but when Zayn makes to do it again, Harry tells him “Enough of that!” and rolls off the bed to get a flannel from the bathroom.

 

*******************************************  
July is an endless parade of conference calls, interviews, appearances, traveling, and concerts. They find themselves reaching for each other more frequently as the pressure mounts. 

One night Harry wakes up beside Zayn in a cold sweat. Zayn tries to sooth him but Harry looks panicked. 

“What if no one wants to see it?” 

“See what, Haz? The movie?” 

“What if it’s all done now?”

“It won’t be. Shh, shh, go to back to sleep.” Zayn mops his brow with the sheet and kisses his hair and pets his back until he settles back down and closes his eyes. The next day Harry wakes up chipper and calm with no recollection of what happened. 

 

“Coming to you liiiive and direct from the Hitz Factory studios. It’s ya girl Shalana and your boy DJ Fade. We’re here in the studio with the biggest boy band – nay – biggest band in the entire world, One Directioooooooon!”

The boys all give a greeting and Shalana jumps right into the questions. She starts off with the standard fare, questions they can answer in their sleep by now, but then she starts in on the random questions. 

“Okay, I wanna know, and our listeners certainly want to know, what are your phone backgrounds, One Direction?! Liam, let’s start with you.” 

“Right now?” He pulls his phone out to show her. “The Batman symbol. It’s my symbol, really, as I am in fact, Batman.”

“Oooo, I like it, we have the Dark Knight in the studio. I feel so safe! Okay, let’s just go on down the line, Harry?”

“I have a bunny rabbit eating a banana.” Harry says, holding up his phone for inspection. Both DJs say “awwww” at the same time.

“Oh my god, look at his little face! So cute! Ok next!”

Zayn is seated beside him with his thigh pressed in close to Harry’s thigh. He holds his up a little awkwardly. 

“I just changed it to this the other day,” Harry looks over at the screen and his fingers dig into his thighs a bit. He immediately catches himself and stops tensing. 

“Ohh, nice. Is that mom and dad and girlfriend?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Zayn says quietly, darting a look over to Harry. Harry just stares back. The picture has Zayn and Perrie in the middle with Zayn’s parents flanking them. They’re all smiling huge and dressed to the nines. “It was their 22nd wedding anniversary dinner.” 

“Oh nice. I guess the girlfriend is in good then if you’re taking her to something like that, then? Pretty serious, huh?” Shalana prods. 

“Yeah,” Zayn says and shifts in his seat. Harry looks down at his hands. 

“Sorry Directioners!” Shalana fake-pouts. 

“She’s in a band too right? Won the XFactor like you guys right?” Fade pipes up from behind the console.

“Yeah, Little Mix.”

“Yeah, I heard a song of theirs… good voices on them,” Fade replies.

“We didn’t win, though,” Liam corrects. 

“What’s that?” Shalana asks. 

“You said we won our season. We didn’t. They won their season, though. They were brilliant. We were rubbish. Got sent home in third place,” he deadpans. Everyone laughs and starts talking over each other. Harry checks out for the rest of the interview, annoyed with himself for feeling any way besides happy for Zayn. Several minutes later he realizes that Zayn is lightly rubbing his fingertips up and down the center of his back behind the bench where they are seated. He focuses on that sensation and wills his inappropriate feelings of jealousy to subside.

 

 

*********************************  
Harry feels foolish. He’d believed Zayn when he’d said he was not going to do this again. Everything had been going so well. 

Harry gets a group text early Monday morning. His heart sinks down into his toes. 

_“She said yes xx”_

He clicks on the attached picture, already knowing, already feeling the sting behind his eyes. The picture shows a finely shaped pale hand wearing a tasteful engagement ring and lightly placed in a darker hand with tattoos trailing up the arm. Harry drops his phone.

It’s premiere weekend. They have a conference call. Harry calls in a few minutes late so he can miss the congratulations and chatter on purpose. When he does connect onto the line he offers no congratulations of his own. Niall is trying to ask him if he got the text and Harry talks over him, asking Susan and David to get started with the meeting. Fuck appearances. Fuck everything, really. This should be the best week of his life. Fuck Zayn for doing this now. Fuck Zayn for being a coward. He speaks when someone speaks to him. He offers suggestions and asks clarifying questions. When the boys seem to veer off into silliness he’s the one—for once—to get them back on track. 

 

Not ten minutes after hanging up from the conference call he calls Louis. 

“You knew.”

“I did.”

“You knew about us too.”

“We spend almost our whole lives together. Everyone knows.”

“Why didn’t you bloody warn me?”

“He asked me not to.”

Harry does something he has never done and never thought he would do. He hangs up on Louis and refuses to take his calls for the rest of the day.

Zayn calls him over an hour later while he’s staring out into his garden not focusing on anything. Harry declines the call then sends a text. 

_“you have ALWAYS done this and you ALWAYS will.”_

With that, he’s done thinking about Zayn for the day. He calls everyone he knows who’s good at having a good time and he makes some plans. That night he goes to all of his favorite spots, his friends a jangly and increasingly inebriated band of outlaws laughing and dancing and chattering until late. 

Cara is brilliant. He hasn’t seen her for a while, and it’s just nice to hang out and party. They travel in a fleet of SUVs but Cara stays close to him all night. She’s funny and completely off her head. 

After they’ve danced and drank at five different clubs, they wind up at Groucho as a finale. The crew has really dwindled down as people have been sloughed off with each new change of venue. 

It had been a forgone conclusion where the night was headed the moment they laid eyes on each other. Cara initiates the encounter by telling him that she’d scissored Rihanna the last time they were in New York together, so in essence, if he ate her out he’d be getting a taste of Riri’s cunt as well. Who even knows if this is true, knowing Cara, but the prospect sounds good to Harry’s tequila-soaked brain.

 

He wakes up in one of Groucho’s private rooms with a brutal hangover. He turns over and Cara has her back to him, curved into herself. Sex with Cara is always about the release and never about the connection. In short, this was the worst way to wake up while painful loneliness courses through every part of him. 

He leaves without waking her. She probably has her own shit to deal with if her phone vibrating on the plush carpet with “Jake” emblazoned across the screen is any indication. He groans when he remembers that the paps were out in force. He knows there’ll be another spate of “Jake Bugg Slagging Off 1D” style articles to come.

 

Harry spends a day feeling sorry for himself in Ben’s attic, dry heaving, eating plain toast, and sipping peppermint tea. Periodically Meredith or Ben check on him and bring him more toast or tea. He loves them. 

The next day, Harry starts his day with the sunrise, does some yoga, runs a bit on the treadmill, and carefully constructs himself until Harry Styles of One Direction emerges looking refreshed. He suspects that Ben contacted the rest of the band and everyone on his behalf since they stopped calling and texting him abruptly and let him remain on radio silence. Harry drives to Modest so that he can meet the other lads and they can arrive together at Leicester Square . 

Niall insists they share a toast in the conference room before they go, so Harry heads there directly. Zayn and Louis are already there with various support staff buzzing around them. Harry nearly swallows his tongue when he sees how hot Zayn looks. 

Caroline bustles up to Harry, chattering about how handsome he looks and starts smoothing and straightening the suit he’s wearing, which she’d picked for him and had delivered to Ben’s house. Lou comes up and fusses with his hair some, putting some product in it, and then she takes his face into her hands and smiles at him. 

“I’m so sorry, Harry,” she says quietly. This is the first time all afternoon that his Harry Styles of One Direction veneer cracks. They had never got around to talking about what he and Zayn meant to each other even though he’d wanted to tell her a million times or more. _“Everyone knows,”_ Louis had said. Stands to reason they couldn’t keep something so huge a secret for so long. She kisses the tip of his nose and goes over to attend to Liam, who has just entered the room with a suit bag slung over his shoulder and his hair in a floppy half curly, half straightened situation. 

Zayn ambles over to him and Harry is overwhelmed with the dueling desire to kiss him and to punch him square in the jaw.

“Hey, Harry.” 

“Hey, Zayn.”

“I wanted to tell you so many—”

“But you didn’t. That’s what matters.” Harry displays his most brilliant smiling-for-the-camera smiles. “And anyway, it makes no sense to focus on something so small when we have our movie premiere to prepare for, yeah?” 

Zayn looks genuinely at a loss for words so Harry helps him. “Oh, and congratulations on your engagement. I’m sure you’ll have many wonderful years together. I’ll see you in a bit.” Harry thumps his arm with more force than what could strictly be considered companionable and goes over to help Niall set up the champagne for the toast. 

When Mandy tells them the configuration of who’s doing interviews with whom, the air around them gets a bit heavy until Harry says, “Sounds good to me,” and smiles. Zayn excuses himself to the roof for a smoke, and lightly tugs on Harry’s elbow as he passes. When he looks back at him it’s with imploring eyes. Harry has a moment where he decides he’s not going to go, but he doesn’t fool himself for long. 

When he gets up to the roof, Zayn looks both relieved and apprehensive. Harry looks around.

“It’s like de ja vu, innit? And hey—something Mandy said got us up here both times too,” Harry says.

“I’m sorry, Harry. I know you probably don’t want to hear it but I am. I was going to call you and tell you—”

“Why didn’t you, then? We see each other every day practically. We fuck each other fairly regularly. You managed to clue Louis in on it. There was ample time, don’t you think?” Harry asks bluntly. 

“I got scared,” Zayn says simply.

“And?” Harry rolls his wrist in a “go on” gesture. “You get scared over everything. You still grip the seat a little when we take off on planes but you’ve been on hundreds of plane rides. Fear is a part of you, but you don’t let it stop you from doing anything you want to do, so what’s the real reason?”

Zayn just looks at him again, shocked. He keeps stealing the words from Zayn’s mouth and he likes the power it gives him. It’s good to be the one catching Zayn flat-footed and unawares for a change. 

“I think you did it this way for the same reason you fucked that waitress in your bedroom not a day after Perrie had gone out of town. You like the drama of it. You get off on it.” 

“What?” Zayn’s face is screwed up hard now. Harry is expecting him to blow up at him any minute and he wants that. He wants to have it out with Zayn and get it out of their system so they can move the fuck on already. 

“You say you want a nice simple life, but you go out of your way to complicate it, so that’s what I think.”

“Yeah, I enjoy this. Arguing with and disappointing the people I care about really gets me going, Haz. You figured me out, geez, ” Zayn spits. 

“I don’t know what else it could be. You know you have no need to lie to me or keep things from me but you do it anyway and you make me crazy and cranky and that’s not really me and I don’t fucking like it,” Harry says.

“I don’t mean to hurt you. I promise you that’s not the case at all. I don’t ‘get off’ on it or anything like that. I don’t know what it is but I know it’s not that,” Zayn whispers, head cast down.

“You don’t mean to hurt me but it keeps happening all the same.” Harry says. The stinging is back behind his eyes. 

He continues. “Everyone knows. Did you know that?”

“Louis said. I guess we weren’t as smart as we thought we were.” Zayn says dropping his cigarette and stubbing it out with his foot.

“Yeah, not smart at all.” Harry laments swallowing around the lump in his throat and hazarding a look at Zayn who is staring at him, eyes wet and huge. 

Harry is abruptly over this conversation. What’s done is done and holding onto the pain of it while Zayn plans a life with Perrie seems like the absolute worst choice he could make. Harry isn’t hurting because Zayn went about it the wrong way (which he absolutely did!), he is hurting because the person he loves is marrying someone else. 

There are no words that either of them can say to fix that so what’s the point of arguing? 

“It’s not the end of the world I suppose, I was a stand-in for when you couldn’t be with her so –“

“No, you weren’t,” Zayn interrupts. Harry looks at him startled. “You never were.” Zayn continues emphatically.

Harry’s heart thumps rapidly at these words and he wants to probe their meaning but again he asks himself what’s the use at this point? He goes on, not giving into the temptation of that distracting admission. 

“Well my point is, we started this arrangement so you wouldn’t get lonely enough to mess up the thing you had with her. Looks like mission accomplished yeah?” Harry finishes.

“I suppose,” Zayn says quietly.

“And what’s that you said once – turning the page can be the greatest feeling?”

“Something like that,” 

“Well then we’ll be good once we turn this page.” Harry says reasonably even as shards of himself lay at his feet.

“You mean so fucking much, Harry, I swear.” Zayn says fiercely moving toward him slowly. Harry opens his arms and Zayn accepts Harry’s hug like a drowning man climbing onto a life raft. 

“You do too, Zayn. I’m happy for you.” 

They hug until both their phones start vibrating simultaneously. The show must go on, so they head downstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @mindizmyspear Twitter and tumblr :)
> 
> Come say hi!


	6. I Wield My Heart and My Flesh and Bone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Choices have consequences. Memories leave marks

_I want this._

That was the thought that had heralded the beginning of the end.

Zayn had two days, less if he figured in travel. His parents had pushed their 22nd wedding anniversary party back, so that he could attend. Jetlag and tour exhaustion be damned, Zayn was determined to hug all of his relatives and eat as much of his aunties’ food as he could stuff into his mouth. Doniya had even used their mum’s recipe for kheer and debuted her own. 

She was preening over the hundredth compliment and changing out the empty bowl on the dessert table with the second bowl she’d made ‘just in case.’ Zayn thought to tease her a bit over how she soaked up the compliments, but he figured she deserved it, so he left her alone. He mentally patted himself on the back for his maturity and restraint. 

Zayn heard a familiar laugh and looked over at the love seat near the patio. Perrie and Waliyha were hunched over Waliyha’s phone scrolling and giggling.

“Oh he’s cuuuute,” Zayn heard Perrie say from where he stood. Apparently realizing she’d said that louder than she’d intended, Perrie looked up and their eyes met. Zayn quirked an eyebrow and approached them.

“Oh god,” Waliya moaned.

“No boys allowed, mister so you just turn right back arou—“ Zayn easily snatched the phone out of their cupped hands. His brow furrowed further. 

“Who’s this clown?” he asked casually. Waliyha made a noise like she’d been mortally wounded. Perrie avenged her by swatting Zayn on the arm and retrieving the phone. Waliyha gave Zayn an earful about how Rameez was not in any way a ‘clown.’ She’d been so thorough that by the time the adults had retired outside to the deck with coffee, Zayn was fully informed of his high academic marks, his sartorial swag, and his status as the reigning sixth form freestyle battle champion. 

The night was perfect, warm with a slight breeze. Zayn’s mum kept examining her hands as she told the story of her bridal Mehndi. She described in great detail and with deep nostalgia how the design she wore then differed from the one she wore that night at the anniversary celebration. 

“For my wedding it was far more elaborate. Started at my elbows, and there were so many symbols all the way up to the tips of all my fingers.” 

“Some of Bushra’s finest work, certainly,” Farah offered. Everyone had agreed enthusiastically. 

“I love this simple design, though, especially the rhinestones. “ She pushed both of her hands out in front of her and admired them smiling even bigger. There was one singular intricate floral design trailing from her wrists to the tips of her middle fingers dotted with little white points of sparkle and complimenting her French manicure.

His aunts were all too happy to jump in with their own joyous memories of that day. They went on and on about how beautiful Trisha had looked and how if one could truly die of laughter they'd have all been gone. 

Everyone was trying to one-up each other with embellished memories, while Zayn, Doniya, and the other cousins, who were just old enough to be part of this post-dinner palaver, smiled brightly and soaked it all in. Yaser reached over and took Trisha’s hand in his and kissed it as she giggled. Perrie was seated beside Zayn on one of the loungers; she tilted her head up to look at him and smile. It hit him square at his center. 

_I want this._

That’s why when he came back to tour he had tried to resist Harry and their--thing. He had thought if he denied himself Harry, eventually the feelings would go away. 

They didn’t. After over a week of rationalization, he had figured tour life and life-life were so separate anyway. It became easy to justify having Harry on tour and Perrie at home. 

He felt this way right up until the moment Harry was standing on that roof speaking to him with a bitterness Zayn had never seen from him. Sure, Harry was great at sneaky sarcasm. He didn’t mind throwing out a dry comment every now and again. Then he’d smile disarmingly and you’d realize just how badly you’d been played. That was one of Zayn’s favorite little Harry things, even when it was aimed at him. 

His demeanor on that roof, however, was acidic, not sarcastic. Worse still, was the moment in that conversation when Zayn saw that Harry had given up on him. He understood it, knew that it was necessary for Harry to mend himself and for them not to fuck up the band. Him knowing this didn’t make any of it hurt less. Zayn couldn’t even remember what he said to Harry just before they hugged and closed that chapter, but he knew it was lame. He was just glad that there was a chance they’d get back to normal.

 

They had taped a slew of things that would be released in intervals before they went on break. After that, Harry had gone to America with Cal. Zayn had gone home. They don’t contact each other at all besides their business chats and conferences calls with the group.

*******

Zayn loves being home, usually, but he feels unsettled about how he and Harry left things. The distance doesn’t help. It makes Zayn even itchier under the skin. Zayn knows he should leave well enough alone, but he can’t, so two weeks into break he texts Harry.

“hey how are you, man?”

“I’m fine. ☺”

“enjoying the LA sun? :p ” 

“yeah, it’s good.” And then a few moments later “I’ll see you in Adelaide! ☺” 

He reads that last message as: _“I’ll see you next month. Leave me alone, Zayn.”_ So he does. He takes care of his animals, writes, sleeps, goes down to the Bat Cave to make art, visits Perrie on tour, visits his family in Bradford, and most certainly does not Google-stalk his band mate. 

Harry looks happy, if a little tired, when the paparazzi take his picture leaving different clubs in LA. Zayn hopes he’s getting enough rest before they have to finish out the tour. When he catches himself thinking too deeply about Harry’s sleep schedule, he dives back into any of the assortment of DIY projects he has going in the house. When Perrie comes back home from Little Mix’s short tour, she has a new spice rack in the kitchen and all her baking ingredients are arranged neatly. 

They smoke up and make star shaped cupcakes the next day. The day after that, they take the ‘kids’ to the vet and get them all their assorted shots and check ups. Two days later they go to stay with Zayn’s family in Bradford. What starts off as a game night and joint cooking lesson from his mum (she had promised she’d show them how to make her famous chicken tikka) turns into a wedding planning tribunal when three of his aunts show up. 

“Hey, I’m going to get out of your way while you sort …” Zayn says, halfway out of his chair.

“Oh no, mister. You aren’t going anywhere!” Perrie says, physically pulling him back down. 

“But babe, I want you to have anything you want. Plan the wedding of your dreams. This is your day,” Zayn says.

“Yes, I’m going to fall for that and then have to deal with you getting all broody and grumpy if I forget something you want. Nope, you have to help,” Perrie says, patting his knee with conviction. 

Luckily for him, his aunts don’t seem to want him there anymore than he wants to be there, so they talk over him to the point where he can sneak away unnoticed. He heads down into the basement with his cousins to play video games. They take selfies and he posts them on Instagram.

********

As is customary when he’s flown into Australia, Zayn’s mind is just this side of mush. He’s making his way to his room when he encounters Harry, shirtless, barefoot, and wearing cutoff shorts, padding down the hall with a soda and some chips he presumably got from the vending machine Zayn can see over his shoulder. Zayn stops to stare at him. Harry does the same, his face soft and questioning. Zayn resumes walking toward him.

“Hey, Harry,” he says, quietly.

“Heeeey, a goatee.” Harry reaches up and strokes Zayn’s face. Zayn closes his eyes and leans into it humming. Harry pulls away abruptly and Zayn snaps to attention. Harry looks sheepish, like he regrets touching him. Zayn feels like shit. They awkwardly excuse themselves and Zayn goes to his room where he proceeds to sleep like a stone for twelve hours.

 

Zayn needs a new activity to occupy his time and clear his mind, so he starts taking training and fitness seriously. Jarvis is all too thrilled that Zayn wants to train every day in Australia, especially since he and Louis were masters at avoiding his workouts during every other leg of the tour. 

“Better late than never, I suppose,” he says, then puts Zayn through his paces. Zayn has never enjoyed traditional working out with the weights and the repetition, so getting back into boxing is just what he needs. He notices that Harry spends most of his free time wining and dining a local model while every paper and blog in the world salivates over the story. 

As they all get into the flow of touring, Harry and Zayn gradually stop avoiding each other’s gazes and reintroduce small talk into their interactions. Zayn can feel the others relax the more he and Harry converse.

 

Still, by mid-tour, Zayn is so frustrated and starved for touch, he’s waking Jarvis up out of his sleep at the wee hours of the morning to train. During the day he teaches himself rudimentary tricks on this skateboard and tinkers with this go-kart and ATV. At night he finds himself lurking Harry’s social media profiles and resuming his Google research. 

Zayn honestly wonders if a person can develop a dependency on another person like they would a substance.

“Nooo, no, Zayn we’ve survived this long without talking about your whatever you were doing with Harry. I don’t think we should ruin that record,” Niall says when Zayn asks this question while they are monumentally stoned. 

“First off, how do you know I’m not talking about Perrie? Or, hell, I could have just been asking in general,” Zayn asks peevishly. Niall snorts derisively and takes another long hit of the vaporizer. Thankfully Niall’s vexation and Zayn’s defensiveness fade after they sleep off their high. 

Zayn keeps to himself. He overhears Louis tell someone in passing that he was “in one of his moods” after Zayn declines his invitation for a day trip to Fiji. It both relieves and annoys Zayn that none of his bandmates even want to acknowledge what went on between him and Harry. He’s more than happy not to be asked to explain himself, but he’s less pleased that Louis is treating it like Zayn is having some petty strop when he knows about him and Harry breaking up. 

Zayn stops pacing. _“Break up?”_ Where had his mind come up with that terminology in the middle of him winning a fight in his head with Louis? He stands in the middle of the floor pondering this long enough for the sun to change position and the shadows in his hotel room to shift.

*********

The call comes in at 2:43 am. Zayn fumbles with his phone sitting on the nightstand and nearly drops it before answering it.

“’lo?”

“Are you up?” asks Harry on the other end of the line, voice loose and pitched just a fraction too high to be sober. After some seconds of silence while Zayn is still struggling to alertness, Harry offers. “I just want to talk. Not about like…not about us. Just wanna talk?”

“Yeah, yeah we can talk. Come to room 2323,” Zayn croaks.

 

It’s such a familiar scenario. Harry drunk and needing to talk a year ago was an easy, friendly intimacy that didn't cross lines. A month ago it would have been the prelude to a kiss and then a postcoital wind down. 

Right now it's awkward. 

Zayn hesitates to reach out and steady Harry as he totters through the door, but his discomfort annoys him so he makes himself guide him to the couch w light fingertips on his elbow. He goes to get Harry a tumbler of spring water (with a wedge of lemon because that's the way Harry prefers it). He purposely sits beside Harry to prove to himself that he can. 

At first, Harry speaks in fits and starts. He downs his water in three huge gulps then let’s his head fall back on the couch. Tonight’s topic is destiny and how any number of things could have gone differently to make it so the five of them never auditioned, never met. Zayn is sleepy but he keeps himself awake and listens to Harry as he veers off into different subjects, each connected by a slim strand that only Harry sees. Zayn smiles over at him softly and carefully keeps his hands in his own lap rather than run them through Harry’s hair like he wants to.

“Sjana and I talk – kinda argue really – about fate and whatnot. She doesn’t really like the idea of some vast plan making everything the way it is, says we make our lives every day. I don’t know what to believe to be honest.”

Harry has never spoken to Zayn about the model he’s dating directly. In fact, Zayn had been mispronouncing her name in his head since Harry had started seeing her at the start of the Australian tour. He’s not quite sure how this sudden mention of her sits in his bones, but he knows he has no room to feel jealousy or anything akin to it. Instead he answers Harry evenly.

“My mum says that everything happens for a reason. I don’t think that’s exactly the same thing as fate or destiny, but it still feels comforting to think that there are no mistakes. Things unfold as they should,” Zayn says thoughtfully.

“How did you know Perrie was the one?” Harry asks abruptly.

“I just…did. She makes me feel secure when I’m…why are you asking me this, Harry? It’s weird to talk about her to you.” 

“I’m trying to gauge whether I’m there. Sjana lives all over just like we do so I feel like it could work maybe.” 

“How do you feel about her?” Zayn asks quietly.

“She's nice, but it’s still too early to tell.” Harry answers. “I’m still trying to figure it out. She is everything I like and need. She loves life. She’s really into yoga and meditation. She’s peaceful. She’s straightforward. I never have to guess with her. It’s refreshing.”

Zayn would have to be suffering from a head injury not to get how loaded that last bit was.

“Well, I think it’s worth a shot then. Give her a chance,” Zayn finally says after a pregnant pause. He can’t let well enough alone though so he asks, “Why did you come to me to talk about this? Seems like any of the other lads – or Lou would make more sense.”

“I value your opinion. You’re the only one who is engaged after all. Maybe it’s also a little bit to get back at you for all the times I watched you with Perrie when we were … you know,” Harry makes a flappy hand gesture indicating what they use to be to each other. He’s so honest when he’s drunk; it makes Zayn ache a little. 

“That’s mature,” Zayn says, going for a teasing tone because that’s what friends do; it’s what they’ve always done, give each other shit. He continues in that vein. “What would the adoring public think if they could hear you being all surly, Harry?” He allows himself to reach over and brush the wisps of hair off of Harry’s slightly damp forehead.

“Fuck off,” Harry slurs without any heat. “I’m sleepy, gonna go to my room now.” He announces. 

“Okay,” Zayn says as he watches Harry clamber up and amble toward the door. 

“See you tomorrow, Zayn.”

“Yeah, you have a goodnight, Harry.”

*********

For the third year in a row, Zayn gets invited to the Asian Awards. Instead of tucking the invite away in his keepsakes drawer, he RSVPs in the affirmative. Everything‘s just been finalized with the British Asian Trust so this is his first official outing as an ambassador. Perrie’s still doing gigs, so he had thought he would bring his mum since she is the one who had put all these things in place. Unfortunately, it falls on the night of Safaa’s parent-teacher conferences.

“Who puts that kind of thing on a Friday?” Zayn grumbles to her over the phone. He knows he can’t ask her to just let his dad go to that, because ever since he and Doniyah were little, his mum and dad have always gone together.

“Aww, sweetheart, don’t be upset. I know you’ll represent yourself well. Make sure to call me when you get in, let me know how it went, yeah?” 

“Yeah ok mum, I’ll talk to you later. I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.” 

 

Later, Caroline arrives at his house with Brooklyn in tow. Zayn goes to get the trunk of suits and tuxedos out of the car and plays with the baby while Caroline sets up her rack and starts hanging the clothes. When she’s done his sitting room looks like a small high-end boutique. The suits – including heavily embroidered sherwanis--hang on the rack, and she’s arrayed an assortment of accessories on his console table. A row of luxury shoes form an arch in front of the table.

Brooklyn isn’t quite done telling her favorite godfather a very exciting story with twists and turns and important themes.

“Rooooooo!” she says emphatically, her fists clenched and her eyebrows drawn together gravely.

“Really?” Zayn asks astonished. “You know I would never have guessed that until you told me, Brook,” he says rubbing her back and keeping his attention on her oratory. She burbles happily and claps her hands. Zayn laughs even after she stops clapping her hands and decides to clap his face with her excited palms instead. He looks up from the floor where they’re seated at Caroline looking down at them warmly.

“Ya know, you’re going to make somebody a wonderful father one day, babe.”

Zayn smiles, because he really is looking forward to that part of his life. It’s the reason he makes the necessary sacrifices and puts plans into motion now. He knows he’s doing the right thing even when it doesn’t always feel like it. He’s gotten everything he could dream with One Direction. He gets to sing to the world for work, and when he’s done he’s going to be financially stable enough to have ten kids if he chooses. He starts to do a little dance with Brook in his arms and she squeals delightedly.

“I had this friend,” Caroline begins, sitting down on one of the loungers. “His name was Giuseppe. We grew up together, went to the same church. His father was the pastor, in fact. Everyone loved Giuseppe; he was polite and smart and cute! My goodness us girls would basically swoon whenever we saw him. Anyway, he fell for this girl, Magdalena, in uni and they got married before they even graduated. Had a little baby girl in the first year. Well, one time when I came back from school myself, everyone was all-abuzz about Giuseppe and his wife splitting up. Oh, all the gossips were working over time. Come to pass, Sep was spending a lot of time with some Nigerian bloke he met in Birmingham.” Caroline pauses to gesture for Brooklyn. Zayn hands her over. 

“Guess all the people gossiping went crazy then?” Zayn asks sounding casually but feeling like hornets were nesting in his chest.

“Yeah, they did,” She pauses to laugh hugely. “But ya know what, after all the hubbub died down everyone just got on with it. I mean, it wasn’t as easy as all that. I mean, we’re talking about the son of a Jamaican preacher here, but even that all got sorted. Family love is strong, and their little girl went from having a mum and a dad to having, a mum, a dad, a stepdad, and another dad besides. She also has siblings on both sides.”

“Yeah?” Zayn asks still staring down at his hands. 

“Yep. In fact after I leave here we’re going to her little brother Wakefield’s first birthday party.” When Zayn looks up at her questioningly she clarifies, “Wakefield is Giuseppe and Olufeme’s youngest son. They have four children now and they’re all very, very happy. Sep told me once that when he was younger he always wanted a family, but he didn’t see it as an option for someone who was the way he was, so he just stuffed it down until it started to hurt his marriage and there was no way to deny it anymore.”

“Interesting story,” Zayn says standing up and walking over to the rack of clothes. 

“I always like to think about the good things in the world. The way love and truth can really set the world to rights,” Caroline says softly, getting up to stand next to Zayn and placing a hand on his shoulder. Zayn places his own hand over hers and squeezes lightly before turning to scoop Brooklyn out of Carolina’s arms and making faces at her to make her laugh.

“You’ve got ’til half past for baby time, then we need to get you dressed, man!” Caroline warns, pointing her finger as she heads into the kitchen to make them some tea.

 

Caroline’s story stays with Zayn long after her Louis Vuitton pumps go clicking down his driveway. He finds himself thinking about Giuseppe and the reason why she even felt the need to tell him that story. They share a lot; Zayn knows he can go to her and she won’t judge him. He was honored but not shocked when she asked him to be one of Brook’s godfathers and he takes the role seriously. 

He never told her about Harry, but it occurs to him that perhaps she was one of the first to know. She’s always been super perceptive even if she mostly keeps her opinions to herself. However, Zayn concludes that as hard as it might have been for Caroline’s friend, he didn’t have to contend with an entire world watching him like a hawk looking for anything they can to criticize him for, so really, happy ending or not, that story has little to do with Zayn. 

 

It’s the first time he’s going to be at a celebrity function without the other lads and he’s not feeling all that settled. While he waits for his car to arrive, he heads upstairs to the bedroom and smokes the short he had in the ashtray, just enough to mellow him some but not enough to have him fucked up and red-eyed. He reapplies his cologne and looks over the ensemble he’d chosen, a simple black Armani tux, a Gucci neck tie, and Sergio Rossi wingtips. 

By the time the car comes to pick him up, he’s a bundle of nerves. He feels like the awkward geeky kid he’s always been. Thankfully Mandy had listened to him when he said he’d rather not do any red carpet press. They didn’t have anything to sell anyway, so it was fine. 

When he gets to table 27, he realizes he’s sat next to Naughty Boy and Preeya Kalidas from Eastenders. Naughty had turned down an overture to work on Midnight Memories extended to him by the record label at Zayn’s urging, so Zayn feels even more awkward.

“Hello, handsome,” Preeya says with a smile and tilt of the head. 

“Um, hi,” Zayn answers. He’s always thought Preeya was beautiful and he knows his sisters have all her music.

Naughty Boy turns around and regards Zayn with a friendly smile and begins introductions.

“Malik! So great to meet you in the flesh. I’m Shahid and this is Preeya.” Preeya rolls her eyes playfully and makes a face. “And that one over there turned all the way ’round hollering at the next table over is Jasmine. Jas! Oi!” Jasmine eventually turns around.

“Well, hello, Mr. Zayn Malik, first time at one of these things, huh, love?” she asks.

“Yeah,” he says offering a smile and hoping he’ll stop being nervous any moment now.

“Aw, you’re a shy one, aren’t you?” Preeya comments and places her hand on his for a moment. Shahid laughs and shakes his head, then starts pouring out the wine.

The night goes on and champagne starts flowing. Zayn realizes pretty quickly that despite being a room full of luminaries from every industry and every corner of Asia, there’s still a familial quality. He immediately connects with Shahid about music and life and the industry. Zayn feels so bold he asks Shahid if he might want to look at some songs he’s been noodling around with to get his perspective. They make plans to meet the following week.

*********

Zayn arrives at Naughty’s studio/apartment and is immediately set upon by his cat, Bob. Zayn picks him up and he starts to purr.

“Ah, I knew you were good people, Malik,” Shahid says from his seat at the console. Emeli Sande’ and Casyo from Krept and Konan are sitting on the love seat and come off as welcoming and as friendly as Shahid when they introduce themselves. It’s always odd knowing someone’s art and then finally meeting them in person. 

Just like at the Asian Awards, the awkward and excruciatingly polite phase quickly gives way to folks just enjoying each other and making music. They sing about ten covers, ranging from MJ to Maxwell to Queen. Emeli doesn’t seem at all bothered about taking frequent breaks from recording her album to shoot the shit with them. 

 

Zayn isn’t in the habit of thinking about what creative freedom feels like. The band is a huge, complicated machine where he’s just one part. He’s an important part, but just a part nonetheless, and that has always been enough. He even enjoys the challenge of figuring out how best to shine even in rock songs w screaming guitars. 

He’s proud of the work he’s done with 1D and anticipates doing more gratifying things in the future, but there is something that just clicks in a new way when Shahid takes the notebook from his sweaty hands and pours over his lyrics, making little sounds or pointing emphatically at the page and nodding his head. Every now and again he’ll take a passage and murmur it in a melody while his hand taps out a beat on his knee. Zayn figures that’s a good sign, so he smiles. 

"Yo, this is good, fam!" There are no qualifications or market research to tell him why it won't work in the _”current branding paradigm structure”_. "See, if y'all were coming with this last year when you approached me to produce, I'd have had to consider it.” 

"Really?"

"Dead up!" Shahid says sincerely. Zayn is a little gobsmacked by the compliment. 

"Well, I wasn't gonna show this, but when me and Cas were talking, I was just saying I have this other shit for you to look at?" Zayn turns to the back of his notebook, flips it upside down, and hands it over. 

"Z...are these bars?"

"Yeah, I mean, they're probably shit," he laughs preemptively. "But I’ve been rhyming since school,” Zayn answers.

"Say no more, get your ass in the booth, Zed, while I get these levels."

“What? They’re not–” Zayn doesn’t even know where to begin.

“Yo, there are at least one or thirty rhymes you practiced in front of your bedroom mirror, C’mon, badman, now you have a state of the art studio to back you, even if if only for wish fulfillment, let's do this.” Shahid lightly punches Zayn’s arm and points to the booth as he continues to adjust the levels on his board.

At the end of the night Zayn has a rhyme demo that he’s pretty sure will never see the light of day and half of a singing demo that actually seems viable to pitch for the band. Shahid tells Zayn that he’s welcome anytime he wants to make some music or just hang. 

 

When Shahid texts him the next day asking him if he’s coming through, Zayn takes him up on it. He starts to spend hours over in Shah’s studio sometimes working but often just enjoying music or talking and smoking up. 

Shahid is a revelation. He breathes music. He’s self-taught and easygoing, but stays busy. There are times where the only sound in the studio are the pencils shushing against paper when he announces a writing sprint. Zayn admires how he and Emeli work together and how they both work with him. Emeli serves as a kind of vocal producer when Zayn records his demos.

Shahid loves everything about being Pakistani, had cut his musical teeth on Bollywood with a heavy dose of American R&B much like Zayn. He has similar ideas as Zayn about how to apply Islam to his life, but he's also different enough and knowledgeable enough to challenge Zayn’s understandings of the Qur'an. He's like the older brother Zayn never had.

 

Weeks before the first pitch day where all of 1D come together and share songs and start assembling a shortlist of tracks that they want to pursue further, Shahid starts getting asked by media about all the pictures he’s been taking with Zayn in the studio. People are understandably curious as to why he would be working with a dude from One Direction. 

Zayn skims the articles, reminded of something Shah said about how the industry is political, and when there are so many voices that have a say about what winds up on an album, it’s good to get out in front of a track with a campaign that generates some buzz so it can be a factor in which songs the ‘big boys with all the money’ say they like.

 

This break is the longest stretch of time since _“You’re through”_ that Zayn has been away from the boys. He’s maintaining his home, talking to his family every other day, and making music he feels passionately about. As much as he loves doing the international thing, is in awe of the fact that he gets to do something so extraordinary and special and singular, he knows in his heart that this time right now is exactly his speed. 

He spends whole days watching episodes of “Arrow” or “Breaking Bad” back-to-back with Perrie curled into his side. He enlists the help of Ant, Danny, and Perrie’s brother, Johnny to redo his kitchen and bathroom floors. He buys Ms. Edwards a new home and helps her move in. He feels grown up and capable and best of all, normal. 

Zayn thinks about the boys everyday. He exchanges texts with Louis, Niall, and Liam regularly. He briefly contemplates inviting Louis over to smoke up or thinks about initiating a shopping trip with Liam but it never quite gets out of his head and into the action phase. He does Skype with Niall while he’s recovering from his knee surgery in America because Niall texts that he’s bored in the hospital. Once Zayn gets a good look at him, he readily translates ‘bored’ to ‘lonely and scared’. 

Harry is another story. When he thinks about him, he can’t help but think of all the sex they had, how incredible it was, how _right_ it felt. Even more troubling, more often than not, his mind will drift to the long, half murmured discussions in the dead of night, saying things he’d never said to another person before. He would remember, with a smile on his face, making up dances together and then later randomly doing them in unison. Those thoughts feel even more dangerous than the sexual ones, so he just tries not to think about Harry at all and instead tries to refocus his attention on the woman beside him. It’s a tiny bit exhausting.

********

Months pass. He finds himself back staring at his suitcase, berating himself for not really ever learning how to pack for tour and studiously avoiding thoughts about how nervous he is to see Harry again. His phone vibrates itself off of the bed and onto the floor, so he goes to collect it. The message is from Harry’s personal phone.

This isn’t the first time Harry has sent him a non-work related text; a few days after the Asian Awards he’d sent Zayn a message saying that he looked good in his suit. Zayn had spent twenty-five minutes of intermittent staring off into space and composing and erasing messages to decide that a _“thanks man xx”_ was the proper response. This message reads:

_“a new day. a new page ???”_

Attached is a picture of the sunrise over a mountain trail. It’s really a lovely picture and if Zayn is honest, a lovely sentiment. Harry wants them to go back to the way things were before they ruined everything with sex, so Zayn texts back. 

_“yeah, iwant that. i missed you. c u soon. xx”_

**********

“Ya got a satellite, Harry?”

“Yes,”

“Do you…”

“Yes, Niall, I am almost certain that whatever sports channel you’re about to ask me about is included. Press the menu button,” Harry cuts him off. 

“Brilliant,” Niall says as he backtracks to the living room with the entertainment center. Liam is walking around inspecting things like he’s Harry’s dad dropping him off in a uni dorm room instead of his band mate visiting his LA house for the first time. 

“At first, when we drove up, it didn’t quite look like you –” Liam begins.

“Yeah, not quirky enough.” Louis adds.

“But seeing the inside and what you’ve done to it, I see you all over.” Liam stops in front of one of Harry’s Hayden Kay prints, “My pen is huge.” He reads, furrowing his brow. “What does that have to do with all these drawings of willies?…Ohhhh, clever.” He snorts. 

On the opposite wall, Louis examines a painting featuring nine different flowers, all of which resemble vaginas. “Well, it’s good to have all your bases covered, I suppose.” 

Zayn hangs back quietly because he doesn’t know what to say really. Tour has been going well. They’ve been diligent about making sure they don’t avoid each other (for too long) while still giving each other space. They can play around again even if sometimes the timing is off. Touching each other can get so tangibly uncomfortable at times that it’s hard to believe that touching each other’s skin held such a sense of comfort the year before. 

Zayn watches Harry. He still lives big as ever, bigger maybe. He still laughs loud and enjoys people and meets whomever he can. He still courts elegance with a charming word and a flirtatious smile. He and Sjana fizzled out as soon as he left Australia, but he does occasionally go out with Marta still. There are others as well; Zayn doesn’t feel a need to remember their names. The media has started to take up the womanizer narrative again, but Zayn suspects that if the label knew about the things he and Harry had done, they’d be all too excited to get fully behind that kind of press. 

There are moments when Zayn will be looking and Harry will look back and it is just like it was. In one glance, a flood of shared emotion will leave Zayn feeling too big for his skin, needing to take a lap around the stadium just to burn it off. 

They travel by jet more often than not so they can fly back home on off days. They rent two, just like with the buses. Sometimes it depends on the logistics of who is going where; usually, they have a smoking and a non-smoking plane. 

Zayn and Harry don’t fly together much.

Zayn notices Harry is more vocal about gay rights. He always has been, but he seems to really go out of his way now. He speaks for charities, he makes overt shows of support for gay athletes, gives thumbs up to kids who fly rainbow flags at shows, and he decries the message of the Westboro church even though their management advises them it would be best to ignore them. Zayn is proud of him in a way, but it also makes him nervous.

 

Harry seems content to let them wander around his house discovering on their own. He mentions that one of the bedrooms is more for art storage and another is his yoga and meditation studio. Besides his master bedroom, there are three remaining bedrooms and an entire one-bedroom guesthouse out back. 

“Zayn, do take our bags to the back residence so we might smoke it out later,” Louis commands haughtily.

Zayn just hoists his middle finger and heads toward the back rooms to explore on his own.

“Such vulgarity, a shame really,” Zayn hears Louis stage whisper to the others.

 

As it turns out Zayn and Louis do take the guesthouse. 

The innards of Louis’s suitcase are strewn on every surface in the large bedroom and starting to creep into the hallway. 

“Fuck, Louis,” Zayn says, as he kicks at Louis’s deluge of footwear. “We just got here! How?” Zayn is laughing but he’s also honestly alarmed by how quickly Louis has made a mess of things.

“Respect my process, Malik,” is all Louis offers as he laboriously rolls a spliff on the coffee table in the living room. From experience, Zayn know it’s not going to be smokeable for several minutes, so he heads back to the main house for some snacks. Zayn finds Harry hanging out of his fridge when he gets there. 

“Hey, um. I was just wondering if you had some snacks?” Zayn asks.

“Yeah, Carole over at the label came and stocked the whole place for me, so it was all here when I got in earlier. She did a really good job. Even got Niall his favorite beer.” 

“Nice.”

“Yeah.”

They maneuver awkwardly but politely around the kitchen, much like they’ve moved around each other all tour. Just before Zayn is about to leave and head back out to the guesthouse with an armful of snacks and beverages, he turns to Harry and speaks. 

“Hey, thank you for agreeing to put us up while we’re here. It’s going to be nice to get some peace and quiet for a week.”

“Of course, just let me know if you need anything. The community has a few boutiques and little delis and shops too just in case you want something that Carole didn’t think to get.”

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind. See you later, Haz.” 

“See you, Z.” 

 

The breaking point comes at the hands of a throwaway comment that Liam makes the next day. Harry is in his breakfast nook wearing basketball shorts and a faded Live Strong tee shirt, checking the sports page and sipping tea, when Liam, sitting across from him, speaks.

“It’s so weird, mate.”

“What, Liam?” Harry asks

“Seeing you with your clothes on. Like, to be fair, it’s rare for you to be wearing a top _and_ pants, but especially when we’re just chilling in private.”

Liam has this uncanny ability to be completely oblivious to mounting tension and very often he unthinkingly speaks on things that would be better left unsaid. He also misses the sharp look Louis is throwing his way and the look of dawning comprehension on Zayn’s face.

 

 

“So what is this, then?” Zayn asks a few hours later, walking up to Harry leaned against his kitchen island. Zayn lightly tugs at the sleeve of his tee for emphasis. The others had gone off in search of the Italian bakery Harry told them about. 

“What?” Harry asks mid-chew of his banana.

“Liam is right. It’s hard to believe you walk around fully dressed in your own house.”

“If you want to see me naked, Zayn, just ask,” Harry says lightly.

“Ha ha. But really, why? Is it for my benefit? I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable in your own home, Harry.”

“Well I wasn’t uncomfortable ’til the start of this conversation…” Harry says.

“Alright, fine, fine, let's just bottle it,” Zayn says, getting agitated with Harry’s feigned nonchalance. Harry frowns at him.

“I don't know what you’re asking me to say. I'm trying to make everything normal you're the one making it weird. What else could you possibly want?”

“I don't know,” Zayn replies.

“Finally you admit it,” Harry responds immediately, turning to toss his banana skin in the trash but Zayn hears him anyway.

“What's that supposed to mean?” Zayn says, more agitated than before. Harry looks weary.

“Nothing. Just what do I have to say that will make you stop arguing with me? I don't--it's been so long. Why are we still stuck here?” Harry asks pushing his hair out of his face and imploring Zayn with his eyes.

Zayn shrugs a bit helplessly.

“I feel like since we were each other’s first, um, guy, it just makes everything so amplified, but I’m so ready to turn this page, man, ’cause this is such shit,” Harry says.

“I know. I want that too. It’s just that if we don’t do the things we did before everything happened with us, we won’t ever get back to normal, and normal for you is being bare-assed a good deal of the time.” Zayn says it to lighten the mood but it doesn’t quite do the trick.

“I think the part that’s been difficult is that I remember too much. Being naked around you just brings up different memories than it use to before all this,” Harry admits.

“I get that, I guess… but you’d think with the others around it wouldn’t be so bad. I’d remember if Niall was having a pint next to us while we ya know…” Zayn remarks. This time the humor catches and they do smile sideways. The air around them still feels fragile.

“And it’s that way for me. I mean, with memory… It’s difficult not to get caught up in that. I suspect I’m always going to hold it a bit. You’re the only guy I’ve ever--” Zayn trails off.

“You were my first. It’s always gonna mean something, I’m always going to remember and I want to," Harry pauses to scoff seemingly remembering something ""unlike..." Harry swallows his own voice, but Zayn registers the momentary eye bulge and Harry’s artless self-censorship.

“Wait, what?” Zayn feels an edge rising in him.

“It’s nothing, Zayn,” Harry comments. 

“So there’ve been others? So many you’re forgetting them,” Zayn asks.

“That’s a really interesting interpretation of what I said,” Harry says, folding his arms and looking directly at him.

“You started down that path on purpose. You wanted me to know there are others,” Zayn says feeling adrenaline awakening in his blood stream.

“Other. Singular,” Harry says, gaze still not wavering.

“I can’t believe this,” Zayn says running his hand through his fringe pulling it away form his eye. He laughs. 

Of course Harry just found a replacement. That’s what he does. How could Zayn have thought he would wind up any different? Zayn risked a nice normal life with Perrie for this when Harry had nothing to lose and without another thought found some other dude to fuck. 

Later on Zayn will think back on his feelings in this moment and realize how unreasonable he’d been and feel shame. Currently, however, there are Technicolor images of Harry fucking and being fucked by some faceless dude swimming around in his head. He feels completely incapable of ‘reasonable.’

“Does it bother you that I actually like men? That I wasn't just looking for a warm place to stick my cock when my girlfriend was away?” Right past snark and directly into acid. It enrages Zayn that Harry could possibly act wounded right now.

“You’re not some martyr, Harry!”

“I never said I was, Zayn!” They take an angry beat.

“Who was it, Harry?” Zayn asks with deceptive calm.

“Don't worry, he won't go to the press; it'd be worse for him,” Harry says. Zayn can see he's finally seemed to dredge up some decency and contrition as he averts his eyes and looks down at his feet.

“Who?”

“Why do you keep asking me? What business is it of yours?” Harry asks agitated, looking back up at him but not with the challenge from before.

“Who, though?” Zayn says with a bit more steel in his voice and stepping in closer to Harry’s space. Zayn can feel several emotions flit across his face and Harry seems to catch them.

“Wait, are you _jealous_?” Harry asks incredulously.

Zayn can feel his heart race and his blood charge through his body, crashing like waves against his eardrum. 

“Who Harry? Is that why... _fuck_ is that why you were wearing Michael Sam's jersey when we were in Saint Louis?” Zayn asks. Briefly the faceless man is replaced by the large American footballer in Zayn’s mind and he's got Harry up against a wall.

“I've never even met him, Zayn.” Harry laughs and shakes his head.

“Yeah ok, ok, I see. ... Well who then?”

“Why do you even care?!” Harry unfolds his arms so he can flail broadly as his voice rises and his eyes blaze.

“Why are you keeping it from me?” Zayn counters, speaking with an unnatural calm.

Harry laughs again.

“Everything is funny, innit?”

“No, it's really not. Wait! I have a question," Harry snaps his fingers like something just occurred to him. "When's the wedding? Have you set a date? Will you be letting us know beforehand or just send us a postcard from the honeymoon?”

“You talk so much fucking shit, Harry. Who. Was. It.”

With each word Zayn moves closer to Harry and pulls himself to his full height, which is enough to make them eye-to-eye since Harry hasn’t stopped leaning on the counter. They both look at the other’s lips and a moment later they're kissing. 

It’s an extension of their argument, all tongue and teeth and aggressive groping. Harry seems to remember he’s a bit bigger than Zayn so he does stand, pushing up from his thighs, reversing them and slamming Zayn’s back against the counter then moving forward so that he’s caging Zayn with his arms, hands flat against the counter top. Zayn’s squeezes the small of his back until his blunt nails dig in a bit. He then plunges his hands down the back of Harry’s basketball shorts. He’s isn’t wearing any pants and Zayn growls while gripping his ass and pulling the cheeks up and apart.

When Harry pushes the shorts down without any pretense then jacks himself a few times, the smell of his arousal punches into Zayn’s senses, pushing all thoughts of caution out of his head. Harry doesn’t even need the vice like grip on Zayn’s shoulder that he uses, doesn’t have to push him down insistently because Zayn is halfway to his knees by then. Harry backs up to give Zayn room to fold himself below the counter. He keeps his hand around the base of his cock so as not to choke him. Zayn wants it, though. Wants Harry to fuck him so good he'll still feels it in two days when he's back on stage making him have to struggle through his solos. He wants to have one more memory to carry with him.

“Zayn, oh god…” Harry whimpers. Zayn moans around Harry’s cock and starts to caress his legs and ass. Harry joins him in moaning, reaches down beneath the counter and caresses Zayn’s face, and runs his fingers gently through his hair. He slows his hips to a minute push and pull. Zayn makes up for that by bobbing his head up and down steadily, retreating only when Harry’s cock pushes past his soft pallet and makes him gag. Eventually, Harry drops a hand from Zayn’s head and it winds up clasped to the hand Zayn isn’t using to touch himself.

It’s been too long since Zayn’s tasted him. They’re not making that much noise, but they’re so completely consumed with each other that they don’t register Liam’s shouted, _“Holy God in Heaven!”_ until two full beats after he says it, crashing into Louis in an effort to backtrack out of the kitchen.

 

After Zayn and Harry decouple, Harry pulls his shorts up over his erection but, Zayn is wearing jeans so he has to turn toward the counter and wrestle his hard cock back in and zip up without maiming himself. He hears and sees Harry out of the corner of his eye heading up the side stairs. When Zayn gets decent, he just stays with his back to the door staring out the kitchen window not looking at anything in particular.

“Is everyone decent in there?” Niall yells into the room.

“Yeah,” Zayn answers, unable to even pin down an emotion, as all of his seem to be flying just above his head in a frenzy.

When Niall, Liam, and Louis come in with red faces, nearly tiptoeing like they think Zayn has hidden land mines under the kitchen tile, he can’t be there anymore. Without another word, he heads out through the kitchen door and stomps through the garden to get away.

**********

“So,” Louis begins “you and Harry have resumed bumming, then?”

 _“Haramzada,”_ Zayn says in disgust and stands to leave.

“Tommo, please,” Liam says. “Zayn, come sit back down. We’re not judging you or any of that.” 

Zayn eventually made his way back to the guesthouse and had begun chain smoking and panicking until Louis and Liam came to talk to him.

“I know you just called me a swear word, but we’ll let it go for now,” Louis says primly. Zayn glares at him. Sometimes Louis is the only person Zayn wants to talk to. Sometimes, like right now, he’d rather be explaining himself to a great white shark out in the middle of the ocean.

“I don’t see how this is any of your business,” Zayn bites out. He hates the way they’re looking at him. He doesn’t see disgust but he does see something that looks dangerously close to pity and that’s just as bad. He stops looking at them, stares straight ahead.

“Since when is my two bandmates having a not-so-secret sexual relationship not my business. A relationship – I might add – I thought ended months ago? The band is my business. It’s yours too. It’s like 500 different people’s business to be quite honest.” 

“I don’t run who I fuck through a committee,” Zayn grits.

“Do you run it by your fiancée at least?” Louis asks. Zayn’s eyes snap over to him. His skin feels like it’s on fire.

“Gentlemen! Look, Louis if all you want to do is antagonize, then why don’t you go back to the house?” Liam says disapprovingly.

“I’m not trying to antagonize him!” Louis nearly jumps up from the couch to defend himself. He makes eye contact with Zayn. “Zayn and I have talked about this. He says he wants to give up certain _behaviors_ so he can make it work with Perrie and now he’s doing those _behaviors_ with Harry. I am just … I don’t know. Confused.” By the end, the wind is out of Louis’ sails. 

He and Louis had had long talks about Zayn’s wandering ways. Zayn never explained to him how closely those encounters correlated with times he’d gotten off to thoughts (or pictures or videos) that didn’t feature a single woman. He instead talked about how the unqualified, detached sex he was having soothed his stress in a way nothing else did, which was true as well. 

“I don’t understand the Harry thing, Zayn,” Liam says quietly. Zayn closes his eyes and clenches his hands into fists on his lap. Liam rushes on, “I’m not saying I _have_ to understand, like you’re entitled to your privacy I know but we’re all friends right? It’s just weird you both keeping this from us.”

“We thought we were being courteous. We knew you’d all be uncomfortable and we just figured it wasn’t something to advertise,” Zayn replies. “We’ve been discreet in public. We didn’t… We’re well aware that One Direction is our business, we wouldn’t let people know, Louis.”

“Wait, _that’s_ why you think I’m mad?” Off Zayn’s stony silence Louis continues. “They talk we live, Zayn! I don’t care if instead of blowing him in his kitchen you did it on the stage at the MTV Awards. Fuck people! I’m talking about us! What does it mean for the five of us if two break off into a relationship? Fuck, I’ve told you _so much_ , trusted you with so many secrets, and you didn’t even feel you could tell me about your relationship with Harry?”

“That’s what it is, right?” Liam asks quietly.

“What?” Zayn asks, opening his tired eyes and looking over at him.

“A relationship? At first I was thinking it was just more mucking about like how we all did in the X-Factor house that one time, but thinking back on it… just ways you were with each other last year... It was more, wasn't it?” Liam seems uncomfortable talking about this. Zayn doesn’t feel judged, per se, but he does flick his eyes away form him when he nods his head faintly.

 

Harry had retreated quickly to the second story, just wanting to get away. Usually when he feels anxious, he has a few places he likes to go. Getting in his car and leaving didn’t seem like a good option. He honestly couldn’t deal with being seen by the public now. 

His favorite place on his property is his garden pond, but the bridge from the main house to the guesthouse spans the pond so that seems like a pretty bad bet if he wants to avoid everyone. After some deliberation, he winds up in his art room, sitting beneath the windowsill with his knees pulled up to his chin. It’s a good hiding spot; there are three large, yet to be hung paintings blocking him from view if anyone looks in the room. 

Niall finds within minutes Harry He doesn’t say anything at first, just plops down right next to him, and they sit in silence for a while. When Harry starts to speak he’s surprised by how easily his words flow. Niall is in a sharing mood too, so Harry learns that Louis might have overstated the “everybody knows” bit at first. Before Zayn’s engagement Niall was mostly convinced it was a long con that Louis was running for some unknown reason. Niall adds that Liam had his doubts as well. 

“But see the thing is, I’m in love him, Niall. Like I really am. I go out with people and I have fun. They’re nice, but it’s just to get my mind off of him and it never, ever works.” Niall’s eyes get huge at Harry’s admission. then he frowns down at his hands for a while.

"Well, did you ever, I don't know, Harry _tell_ Zayn you were in love with him?" he asks finally. 

"He’s getting married, Niall.”

“But from what you said earlier, you knew you loved him before that.” Niall says reasonably.

“Well, that's not really what our thing was...I didn't want to ruin it." Harry is miserable and tears slide down his cheeks as he lets his head fall back on the wall with a thunk. “I'll do better. I won't let this like ruin the band. I just...it's hard not to want to touch him."

"Alright! Alright! I don't want to hear anymore of this train of thought, thank you." This makes them both chuckle a bit. Harry wipes at his eyes. “We had it under control for so long and then _wham_. I don’t even know where that came from back there.”

“Well, it probably came from the fact that you’re in love with him and he may not be too far from that himself,” Niall says. Harry looks over at him dubiously. _Yes, he loves me so much he’s proposed to someone else._

“I’m not worried about you breaking up the band, you know?” Niall continues. “Neither of you. You’re both solid lads and you love 1D as much as any of us. I know you’ll work that part out. But I want you to work out all that other stuff with him. He should know how you feel. You can’t keep that from someone and have it turn out okay.”

“But he’s already in love and he’s getting married. All it’s going to do is make things awkward,” Harry shrugs miserably.

“So fucking what, Harry? So it’s awkward. Lemme tell you a little story: one day I was staying at me friend’s house for a week and I went to buy some cannolis, but when I got back to the house my friend was fucking our other friend in the kitchen. Now _that_ was awkward.” They both roar while falling into each other. Harry’s tears of frustration and sadness are pushed out to make room for his tears of laughter.

“I can’t even imagine your face!” Harry says, feeling the anxiety uncoiling in his gut.

“I missed it! Liam got a face full on though!” Niall screeches back, wiping tears from his own eyes.

 _”Holy God in Heaven!”_ They yell in unison then fall into each other again, laughing so hard they’re reduced to slapping at each other with twin rictuses of mirth. 

At one point Niall yells “I can’t breathe! I can’t breathe!” It takes them many snickers and combustive bursts of laughter until they are finally settled down. When they are, Niall looks directly at Harry and starts to speak seriously.

“Look, Perrie is a really pretty, nice girl, and I’m sure Zayn loves her, but he doesn’t love her enough to not fool around with you, so I think that says something.”

“But I…”

“And if you both decide like you wanna be together or whatever I’ll back your play; I’m sure we all will. We’ll tell the label to kiss our arses if they try to give you any guff about it. Seriously, tell him, Harry. Honesty is the best policy and all that,” Niall says.

“Yeah I’ll think about it,” Harry whispers.

 

Harry does think about it and decides the best policy is not so much honesty but avoidance. Luckily for him, Zayn seems to be completely onboard with that plan. Their band mates look on in vague exasperation. 

Despite this, the rest of the shows go well. Plans for culling together the album are in their final stages. They do share a moment in the meeting where the complete track listing is announced. Four of the Zayn's wrote make it, including two favorite tracks from the sessions with Shahid, and even though Liam, Louis, and Niall are cheering and thumping him on the back, he and Harry make immediate eye contact and share a warm smile, Harry’s proud and Zayn’s shy. 

They have a bit of press to sell the concert movie and tease the new album. They’re at their most comfortable and easy when they have work to do. On the last show day of WWAT they all share a surprisingly angst-free night at a Miami club together. They drink and reminisce. They flirt with waitresses and fans but not in any serious way. There are no girlfriends (or fiancées), just the five of them, assorted crew, support acts, and staff living it tup before the long break.

 

When they get back to London, they see each other again for work. They do an entire day of recording, radio bumps, and music channel promos. Again they stick together, just the five of them, during lunch, and it just feels right, something akin to the early days. No one remarks on anything that would make anyone uncomfortable for fear of breaking the spell. 

This is perhaps the reason why they think going out and replicating the club experience is a good idea. This time, Liam has to bow out at the last minute because Sophia isn’t feeling up to it and they opt to have a quiet night at home. Louis comes out but brings Eleanor and they spend the night totally enrapt with each other. Niall is always up for a lad’s night, but the more Harry's and Zayn’s glasses pile up, the more the air around them shifts. At some point Niall decides to turn his attention to the girls circling them in VIP. He’s drunk and jolly enough not to be too stressed about the crush of bodies as he announces, “I’m going in!” and heads down to the dance floor.

Harry and Zayn find themselves for all intents and purposes alone together. And drunk. They keep their thighs pressed against each other. When there were more people on their couch they could pretend it was because of that. 

Zayn is savoring his glass of 12 year old _Dalmore_ , nodding his head to the music blaring around them. His eyelashes fan up and down slowly as he blinks languidly. Harry can’t keep his eyes off of him. Zayn turns to look at him and he seems to get similarly stuck. 

The club caters to celebrities, so each cordoned-off, elevated VIP box has a small private antechamber connected to the back. They end their staring contest when Harry points over his shoulder at the door and Zayn nods in agreement. 

The room is outlined in couches that are a bit more plush then the ones in the club. There is a wide screen TV, a fireplace, and a wall made of thick one-way glass that allows them to look out at London sparkling below, but blocks any photographer with a telephoto lens and no sense of boundaries. They are standing beside each other looking out into the night, nursing their drinks, when Zayn starts laughing.

“What?” Harry asks with a confused smile playing on his lips.

“You’re a funny boy, Harry. I was just remembering how you said I was using you to keep my dick warm, and I’ve never heard you say anything like that.”

Harry doesn’t know how to really respond so he doesn’t. His stomach tightens. They haven’t had a proper talk about what happened in the kitchen and even in his vodka-addled state, he knows he doesn’t want to talk about it like it was a light-hearted, fun time. He opens his mouth to change the subject when Zayn speaks again and obliterates every other thought he might possibly form before he forms it. 

“You’re not the first bloke, ya know.”

“What?” is the only thing Harry can think to say.

“I never acted on it, but you weren’t the first that I looked at…not even the tenth probably.” He pauses to giggle jaggedly. “God, I’m such a mess; I’m going to regret this so fucking hard tomorrow morning.” He starts to chuckle again. Harry is so confused and drunk and he feels young. It isn’t until Zayn turns his body away and sniffs wetly and wipes his eyes that Harry knows what to do. It’s an instinct. He reaches over and wraps his arms around Zayn’s back. He can’t not. 

Zayn rarely ever cries in front of people. To hear him tell it, he rarely ever cries at all. Harry holds him tight, pressing his cheek against Zayn’s shoulder. At first Zayn stands stiffly, not yielding at all or hugging back. Then slowly, like a thaw, he reaches up and squeezes his arms around Harry’s. 

“I kissed a boy before you. Back in school,” Harry whispers . “It didn’t feel like anything at all. I did it because my girlfriend asked me and I liked being watched.” Zayn lets out a little snort at that. Harry speaks the next bit into the fantail etched on the back of Zayn’s neck, lips lightly brushing against the skin there. “Every day since we kissed in your kitchen I’ve wished I’d waited for you.” Zayn takes a shuddery breath but doesn’t say anything in response.

 

After awkwardly disengaging from their embrace they seem to mutually agree it would be best to go back out into the club. They are far too drunk to have a real discussion or deal with their sudden flood of emotions. When they come out, Louis and Eleanor have left and Niall is talking to Mark over a pint. When he sees them emerge from the private room, his eyes widen, and then he smirks. Harry tries to shoot him a look that says _“It’s not what you think.”_

“I think I’m gonna head home,” Zayn says. Something in Zayn’s tone or maybe the expression on his face makes Niall stop smirking abruptly. 

“Yeah me, too,” Harry says. Niall looks between them rapidly for a bit as they fidget under his inspection. “You two okay?” He asks.

“Yeah, just knackered. It was a great idea to come out though, Niall,” Harry says as Niall stands and they hug goodbye.

“Yeah, man, it was great. Call me we’ll do some shopping next week,” Zayn adds, rubbing the crown of Niall’s sweaty head when they embrace.

“Do you want me to call two cars or—” Mark begins.

“Yes,” Harry and Zayn say in unison.

 

It had rained while they were in the club. Harry exits first and is surrounded by paparazzi and fans. He manages to go on autopilot, bending and smiling for a few selfies before being swallowed up by the town car. He tries to put his eyes on Zayn as his driver maneuvers away from the curb, but knows he’ll likely wait inside until he can be deposited directly into his own car after Harry’s gets out of the way. There is a bit of traffic moving away from the busy nightclub area, but soon they’re beyond that and moving easily through the slick London streets. 

When the driver asks him where he is headed, he gives his own address and tells him to take it slow. He likes to be out and about watching the world without the world watching back sometimes. He’s sobering up fast, thankful that he kept drinking water between cocktails so he’s not developing a headache. He can’t stop thinking about Zayn and his admission. It never really occurred to him that Zayn had a general interest in guys. He thinks about how much pain Zayn was in after telling him. 

Harry starts to think about how poorly it ended. It was too abrupt, no conversation, no processing. They went from sharing a bed to not and Harry hadn’t even been aware that their last time would be their last time. Harry had already replayed that last week they were together, and he remembers so many times when Zayn seemed to be lingering after kisses or making sure to take his time and do things just right, things he knew Harry liked. Harry realizes in this moment that these small gestures were Zayn’s way of saying goodbye. His heart twists in his chest. A moment later he calls to the driver for a change of destination.

 

They hit another bit of traffic unexpectedly. There is an accident that everyone has to slowly creep around. The usually 35 minute trip from north London to Hertfordshire takes nearly an hour and Harry is afraid that he might have come too late. 

When he’s a block away he calls Zayn. 

“’lo?” He sounds a bit sleepy but not like Harry woke him.

“Hey, Zayn. Um. I’m outside. Can I come in?”

There is a very long pause.

“Is she home?” Harry asks, wanting to smack himself for this oversight.

“No, she’s not.”

“Should I just turn back around, Zayn? Go home?” Harry asks, not sure how he'll deal if Zayn tells him that’s exactly what he should do.

“Lemme buzz your car in,” he says instead.

Five minutes later he is in the foyer to Zayn’s house removing his shoes and lining them next to all of Zayn’s trainers. Zayn has changed from his club clothes to his Thor sleep pants and a ribbed black tank top and expensive-looking leather slippers. He leads Harry into the living room where one of his video games is paused on an image that’s so odd Harry makes a face and stares. Zayn giggles a little and for some reason the normalcy of Zayn laughter makes Harry calm down considerably.

“It’s a game called Bioshock. A mate told me about it a while ago. Finally giving it a go.” Zayn grabs the remote and turns off the television.

“So,” Zayn says, dropping his palms onto his thighs.

“So,” Harry responds. They take a moment to be silent before Harry continues. “I was thinking about us, and how we keep getting stuck. I think it’s because we haven’t said goodbye, like properly.” 

“We aren’t … we’re still going to see each other all the time. We’re not going anywhere,” Zayn says, confused.

“Yeah, but the part of us that was--you know. That part we just let fall away. We never talked about what happened at my house the last month either,” Harry says.

“I … I get what you’re saying, Harry, I do. I think you’re right. We need to talk about a lot of stuff, but I’m not really like ready to talk about everything tonight.”

“Me either,” Harry says. Zayn seems taken aback and looks at him. Harry, ever so slowly leans in, gets close to Zayn’s lips and says, “Let me say goodbye to this.” He kisses Zayn’s as gentle as a feather then adds a low drawn-out “Please,” 

Zayn responds by pushing into Harry’s space and running his hand up this bicep and into his hair before fisting his other hand int Harry's collar and pulling him into an earth-shifting kiss. After a short while, he takes Harry by the hand and leads him up to his bedroom. 

 

Things go differently than they used to. 

There is no playing nor laughing nor rushing. They take their time undressing each other, kissing and licking every inch of bare skin. Harry painstakingly caresses the shells of Zayn’s sensitive ears with the tip of his tongue while Zayn’s makes the sweetest noises. Zayn sucks and licks each of Harry’s nipples slowly until Harry is pulling on his own hair, overcome with sensation. Harry lies beside Zayn and studies each tick and change of Zayn’s face as he fingers him open slowly, his free hand carding soothingly through Zayn’s thick hair. 

“Do you have anything?” Harry asks. “I didn’t bring anything.”

“Don’t keep any in the house,” Zayn pants out. “Come on, though, it’s okay.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” Zayn whispers. 

A moment later Harry covers Zayn’s body and pushes his naked cock into him with slow, steady pressure. It’s been a long while, so it takes Zayn’s body longer to adjust than it used to. While he does, they kiss deeply and touch every part of each other they can reach. When Zayn is ready for Harry to move, Harry does, realizing quickly that he’s so wound up, it won’t take long. In an effort to hold off for just a bit longer, Harry pulls out of Zayn and turns him over. He places sucking kisses on the back of Zayn’s neck right over the fantail where he’d placed his confession not two hours before. 

He sinks his cock back into Zayn’s hole and they both hiss together. He fucks Zayn hard into the mattress, stopping twice whispering, “not yet, not yet, not yet, not yet” both times. On the third time they tumble over the edge together, both crying out each other’s name like a hymn. They fall asleep with Harry still on top of Zayn.

 

A few hours later, Harry wakes Zayn up by sucking him to full hardness. When he knows Zayn is awake and alert, he crawls up his body so he can straddle his hips. He’d already stretched himself some, but he wants to _feel_ it when Zayn fills him up. Zayn holds himself in place so that Harry can lower himself down onto him. It hurts deliciously and sends chills all across Harry’s neck and shoulders and down his spine. While Harry lowers himself in increments, Zayn places his hands on Harry’s hips and fucks up into him, making him take the last two inches quickly. It stuns Harry enough that he sags forward, mouth open, long sweaty hair in his face, taking Zayn’s cock while he fucks him from below. 

Zayn sits up after a bit and runs his hands through Harry’s hair, pushing it away from his face so they can kiss. They grind together for a long while before Zayn turns them over so he can be on top of Harry. For the second time that night, they come at the same time and fall asleep.

 

In the morning Zayn wakes up alone. Harry’s clothes are gone from his bedroom floor and the house is quiet, save for Hatchi barking somewhere in the distant reaches. He stumbles into the bathroom and washes away the night before, slowly. He touches the places where Harry touched and kissed, clenches so he can feel Harry inside him still and can’t help but take himself in hand and get off quickly at last night’s memories.

After stripping the bed, he pauses to stare at the picture on the nightstand of him and Perrie. He feels guilt but no regret. He understands why he and Harry needed one more time. He vows that, that was it, even though he’s scared about the next tour, about still wanting it after all this time and how the wanting is showing no signs of subsiding. He thinks about his plans, about sacrifices. He thinks about his family, about all that his father and mother sacrificed to be together and raise a family. 

Before he works up a proper amount of anxiety, he takes the soiled sheets to the laundry room to drop them in the wash then heads down to the kitchen hoping to get a bowl of Weetabix before he has to tend to the animals. 

When he gets to the kitchen he looks out and realizes why Hatchi was in such a state earlier. He sees Harry seated in his garden wearing his clothes from last night, feet bare and crossed at the ankle. He is engaged in a game of fetch with Hatchi, and each time the excited pup comes trotting back with the red ball in his mouth dropping it in Harrys’ lap, Harry lifts him up over his head and chatters to him excitedly before setting him down and throwing the ball again. Hatchi’s tale is wagging so hard Zayn is afraid he might take flight. Harry’s face is so joyous and pink from exertion and morning cold; Zayn thinks he could explode from looking at him. 

Zayn has to close his eyes and collect himself before opening the sliding door. He sits beside Harry and draws his knees up under his chin. Hatchi looks over at Zayn when he gets back with the ball. He momentarily seems to consider bringing the ball over to him, but decides to drop it on Harry’s lap instead and run around them happily. Zayn scoops him up, pets him for a bit, and then sets him down. He’s off and running around the entire yard, yipping excitedly.

“I thought you’d gone.” 

“I was set to leave. Thought better of it. We still haven’t done the hard part,” Harry replies.

They don’t look at each other. Zayn watches Hatachi run while Prada comes slinking out from around the side of the house, regarding everyone warily. Harry twists a bit of dry grass and stares at his fingers.

“Well, we should get inside. It’s cold. I’ll make us tea,” Zayn says, standing up and extending his hand to Harry to help him up.

When they get back in the kitchen Hatchi comes running in after them. When Zayn goes to let the food down in the feeder, he notices Harry must have done it already, because Hatchi is busily attacking the remnants of an earlier meal. Prada’s dish is half full as well. 

“Hey, thanks for feeding them,” Zayn says over his shoulder as he rummages through the tea cabinet.

“No problem. Figured it was the easiest way to prove that I was friend and not foe,” he says with a smile in his voice. “I’m kind of hungry myself. Maybe I can make us a fry up?” Harry asks.

“You don’t have to.”

“Yeah, I know, but I want to,” Harry says standing up. Zayn looks over his shoulder, making eye contact with him for the first time that morning.

“Yeah, okay,” Zayn says quietly and goes back to filling the kettle.

 

After they’ve both cleared their plates and Harry has helped Zayn fill the dishwasher, they have nothing else they can do to stall so they get to it. 

“Is Perrie due back soon?” Harry asks.

“Her mum hurt her foot. She’s over helping her out ’til Sunday.” 

“Okay.” Harry takes a moment then continues. “I just I figured I’d start off by saying that I’m sorry for some of the things I’ve said. I knew you were with someone and it was my idea for us to – you know – I just really shouldn’t have thrown it in your face so much,” Harry says in the slow, halting way he has. 

“And I’m sorry for having my cake and eating it too I guess?” Zayn says. “It’s just – I really liked what we were doing and every time I wanted to tell you about the engagement I just couldn’t. I would see you and I wouldn’t want to bring any of that to what we were doing. It was selfish of me.” Harry nods his acceptance and Zayn goes on. “Also, I want to apologize for questioning you about what you do with your life. I didn’t have any right to make you feel bad for seeing whoever you want to see. I was being a prick,” Zayn admits. Harry gives a brief little sideways smile in response.

“It’s okay, Zayn. I accept your apology,” Harry says graciously and then looks Zayn squarely in the eye holding the contact for a few moments before saying, “There were others besides me – before me.” 

Zayn gusts a breath out and runs his hands through his unruly hair. He gets up and gets his smokes from the counter. He turns on the exhaust fan and opens the patio door before lighting up. Only after he’s taken his first pull does he reply.

“When you talk about your life, you talk about how boring it was back in Holmes Chapel, your sleepy little village. You told me you never got into a fight in school. Ever! That was so – I couldn’t even imagine that, Harry, because I fought. I never wanted to, but I had to. Even when I changed schools and it was better I still had to fight sometimes over – just dumb stuff. I just couldn’t have _another_ thing, Harry. Not another thing that was going to make me have to fight.” Zayn isn’t looking at Harry anymore.

Harry nods slowly, fingers rubbing against his bottom lip as he thinks and his picture of Zayn grows fuller before his eyes. 

“I can’t say I’ve been through any of what you’ve been through, but I understand why you would want to play it down in school, but like when I came to you at first you acted like I was asking you to commit a murder. You had all these questions and rules and restrictions I was surprised it worked out as well as it did,” Harry says. “Why were you still hiding even then? I obviously wasn’t going to give you shit for wanting what I was already asking you for.” 

"Habit. I’ve spent my entire life playing all of that down and then you come and ask me if I want to bring it all out in the open. I didn’t want to want it.” Zayn stands to fix himself another cup of tea, the scrape of the chair leg against the tile makes him almost miss what Harry says next.

"Don't marry her." It’s nearly a whisper, simple and small, but firm. Zayn stops dead and redirects his gaze back to Harry. Before Zayn can say whatever he’s thinking behind his blazing eyes, Harry continues. “You just said you spent your entire life pretending you didn’t want something that you do want. Let yourself live for a bit before the tie yourself to one person for the rest of your life.” 

“I also said that I’m not you, Harry! Having a quiet home with someone who loves you and wants to build a life with you _is_ living to me.” 

“I didn’t mean--”

“And I guess that’s the issue: you think life is some grand adventure. It can be, for sure. I love what we get to do. I love singing and traveling, but life can’t be an adventure every second! There is home. There is quiet. There is family.” He punctuates the last three statements by bringing his finger down hard on the table.

“You can have all of it! Zayn! You can have everything you want. Why do you have to get married now just because your parents did it?” Harry can see from the way Zayn’s eyes narrow that he is treading on dangerous ground. He’s never seen anyone who idealized his own parents more than Zayn. He rushes on, holding up placating hands. “What they have is special. I’m not saying it isn’t, Zayn, but it’s theirs and you can have your own thing. It doesn’t have to look like them.” 

“You think you know everything, Harry, and you really don’t,” Zayn says shaking his head and smiling humorlessly. “Sooner or later this will end. 1D won’t be a thing anymore. Hell, look who I’m talking to. I’m certain you didn’t move to LA _just_ because of the sun, nor do I think you vacation with the Azoffs for the family sing-a-longs and hot cocoa. You’re planning for your future, and I’m planning for mine. Just because it looks different doesn’t mean your plans are superior.”

“I never said that, Zayn, and I don’t think that at all,” Harry pleads. They don’t say anything for a while until Zayn speaks again.

“I need to know that I’ve built something beyond the music that’s only a tiny bit mine and the tee shirts with my face on them and the fucking – the fucking books and perfumes and whatever other junk people will be selling at all the car boot sales in a few years.”

Harry knows from late night road conversations that Zayn’s eye toward the future doesn’t mean that he thinks 1D is any less special for being temporary. In fact, its ephemeral nature is what makes Zayn treasure the experience even more. Harry, on the other hand, doesn’t like the thought of 1D ending, even as he plants seeds for that eventuality.

“Maybe I don’t know everything, but I know some things. I know that if it was just sex we would be able to stop,” Harry says. 

“We are stopping, Harry,” Zayn replies firmly. 

“Yes, but we haven’t yet. And even though we took months and months off, I still thought about it. I still wanted it. I still got off to the memories of it when I was alone – sometimes even when I wasn’t alone.”

“Harry, why are you saying all of this now? What does this have to do with clearing the air between us?” Zayn stands up so fast his kitchen chair topples backward and hits the tile with a loud crack sending Prada streaking out of the room. With jerky movements, Zayn rights the chair then walks over to the opened patio door and looks outside stormily. Harry gives Zayn a few more moments to sulk before he answers.

“Because it occurs to me that this is the first time it’s worked for me. I don’t mean all the secrecy and sneaking around; that bit was shit. I mean you and me in a room together and how no matter what we were doing I welcomed it. It was like shutting out the whole world and I’ve never had that. Even when I thought I might be getting there with someone else, it just wasn’t quite right. I don’t think with you. I just feel – and I think that’s what it’s supposed to be like.”

“That’s …” Zayn looks over at Harry, thunderstruck. “I don’t proper even know what to say to all of that Harry. I mean…we’re mates; it makes sense that we clicked,” Zayn says weakly. Harry comes over to stand opposite Zayn. He leans his head on the wall and looks at him.

“You told me on the roof--you said I was never just a stand in, what did you mean?” Harry asks  
.  
“I don’t think it’s really the time to talk about that,” Zayn says shortly and looks back out at the garden.

“Were you just saying it to make me feel better? You didn’t mean it?” Harry asks.

“Of course I meant it. I wouldn’t have said –”

"Well, then, what did it mean?” Harry presses

“Harry, seriously, what is this?” Zayn looks back over at him. 

“It’s me trying to understand, because I don’t right now.” Zayn turns away and looks back into the garden. When he reaches the filter of his cigarette, he snubs it out and disposes of it. Harry takes a deep, deep breath before speaking again.  
“Do you love her?” Harry asks simply.

“What the fuck, Harry?” Zayn asks incredulously raising his voice. “You said you wanted to say goodbye and clear the air. And now you’re asking me all these questions.” Zayn looks harassed.

“I do want to clear the air, but I feel like – I feel like to clear the air there has to be honesty between us, Zayn. How else is it going to work?” Harry hates how vulnerable he feels and hates how trapped Zayn looks, but he’s determined. “Do you love her?” he repeats.

“Yes! That’s no kind of question, Harry. Of course I love Perrie,” Zayn says peevishly. Harry breathes deeply three times. He’d pushed for Zayn to answer so he can only blame himself for the way that his stomach is in free-fall. He doesn’t continue until he trusts himself to speak.

“You said I wasn’t a stand-in. What did you mean by that, Zayn?” Harry asks again, hearing the tremor in his own voice and hating it. Zayn must hear it too because a guarded concern crowds some of the agitation out of his expression. The silence stretches between them. Harry forces himself to keep meeting Zayn’s gaze.

“It’s like I said, our thing was different than what I have with Perrie. It’s a little like what you said about all the crazy of our life. When we were – you know, it seemed a bit simpler. ”

“So was it like a nice diversion? Stress relief?” Harry tries not to sound as gutted as he feels.

“No! I didn’t – No. Why are you making me go over all this?” Zayn pleads.

Harry sees it then. The twist of Zayn’s expression isn't discomfort or annoyance. It's pain. He's not angry; he's sad. Harry reaches for him out of instinct but stops just short of taking his hand. Zayn looks ready to bolt.

“Zayn...why is this so hard for you to talk about? I'm just asking you about something you said months ago?” Zayn doesn’t say anything. Harry continues. “You said that you want a home, and a family and quiet. I know it might look different than what you imagined, but I think about us. In a room. Together. I don’t see where we’re missing home or family or even quiet. We can make our lives whatever we want them to be. It’s not an either/or. It’s just not.”

“Why are you pushing for this so hard, Harry? You love the noise. You thrive off it. That’s who you are, and it’s good. You go out with all these different people and that’s fine too. There’s nothing wrong with any of that,” Zayn says, energy seeming to bleed out of him with every word. 

“You haven’t answered my question, but I’m going to answer yours because I think it’s important and not because I think it will change anything. It might even make things worse.”

“That’d be quite the feat,” Zayn comments under his breath.

“I’m pushing this because I love you. I’ve loved you for so long, Zayn. I tried not to, to respect your wishes and all that, but I need you to know that even if you get mad at me. Even if it makes things tense and weird. I just need you to know.”

Harry delivers all of this to the center of Zayn’s chest. He takes a moment and then he looks up to gauge Zayn’s reaction. Zayn’s eyes are shut and his head is leaned back against the patio door. Even now, Harry wants nothing more than to bury his face in the long line of his neck. Instead he asks him again.

“What did you mean when you said I was never a stand in?” Zayn doesn’t say anything for a long while. 

“I don’t want to break her heart, Harry. I’ve done that enough.” 

“It’ll hurt way worse years down the line when this comes back up again,” Harry says.

“Have you been having story time with Caroline too?” Zayn asks with a humorless little laugh. 

“What?” Harry asks, confused.

“It’s nothing,” Zayn says shaking his head. “You know, you lied to me, Harry,” he continues, eyes still closed, his hands gesturing as he speaks. “I believed you. You said it was just friends helping each other out, and I believed you. I thought – I thought I could get it out of my system. I thought I could be normal….” Zayn’s response peters out and he drops his arms weakly. Harry can’t stay away, so moves over to stand in front of him so that they’re inches apart. He brings his fingertips to the side of Zayn’s neck and rests his forehead on his. When Zayn doesn’t flinch or stiffen, Harry backs up just enough so he can tilt Zayn’s head up with the curl of his index finger. 

Zayn closes his eyes tighter and Harry can see moisture gathered on the dark fan of his eyelashes. The sight of it makes Harry want to break down and sob, but he doesn't. He concentrates every ounce of his strength into delivering his next comments with his surest, steadiest voice.

“Zayn, you can choose to be with me or you can marry her, or you can choose to do neither, but I _need_ you to know that you _are_ normal and there is _nothing_ at all wrong with you. Nothing.” Harry regards Zayn with fire in his eyes even if his eyes are still closed and he can’t see it.

Harry leans in and kisses Zayn fully on the mouth. Zayn doesn’t kiss back. 

“I'm gonna go. Call me or text me whichever, yeah?” Harry whispers as he backs away. He doesn’t want to pressure Zayn.

Zayn nods his head. One tear drops down and splashes onto his cheek, then makes its slow slide down toward his chin. 

Harry turns to leave, already pulling out his phone so he can call a car when Zayn reaches out and latches onto his wrist. Harry turns back to look at him. Zayn’s eyes are finally open, red and so, so vulnerable. 

“H, are we,” he pauses to clear his throat. “Are we good?” 

“Always,” Harry says, smiling kindly. 

 

Zayn slumps back over to the kitchen table and drops like a boulder into his chair, putting his head into his hands. Sometime later, he hears the faint sound of Harry’s car coming to collect him. Later still, Hatchi comes running up to him, sniffing at his ankles and crying a bit when Zayn doesn’t respond to him. Zayn can’t stop shaking. He can’t stop thinking either. 

This past few years have forced him to confront fear after fear, after fear, but this one has been so engrained in him he doesn’t know if he can confront it without it swallowing him whole. It’s too enormous and life changing. 

But then,

One Direction has been enormous and life changing too, and at times, it has been truly difficult. Still, it’s the best thing that could have ever happened to him and he would not be the man that he is without it.  
He thinks about Harry. He thinks about the constant air of mischief and excitement that shifts around him. He thinks about how Harry lights up a room just by being in it. He thinks about how dazzling he can be, not only to fans but even people who are fully prepared to hate him and the band. 

Zayn also thinks about the little look Harry gets between his brows when he’s unsure of himself, the way his toes turn in to each other, the way he puts so much pressure on himself to do things right and be extraordinary.  
He thinks about how much of a bed hog Harry is, about how he would clamp his long limbs around Zayn and how that would make Zayn feel safe and loved. He thinks about how quickly Harry learned every inch of Zayn’s body, and despite the emotional turmoil he’s been through this morning, Zayn’s toes curl in his slippers. He remembers the taste of Harry, the smell of him, the feeling of him being inside, the feeling of being inside of him. 

Finally, he thinks about Perrie. He thinks about the stable supportive force she has been for the past two years. He thinks about how he’s betrayed her, not out of malice, but because he didn’t know how to deal with his fears. He thinks about how readily she has always been to forgive him his shortcomings and believe in his capacity to do better. He thinks about how much fun they have, and all the plans they’ve made. He thinks about how much his family adores her and about the future that they can have together. 

He thinks about all of this and still he can’t seem to figure out what to do.

**********

In the two days before Perrie gets back home, Zayn does a bit of puttering around. He cleans out Arnie’s tank and changes the bulb after he feeds him his fresh greens and crickets. He takes the grooming brush to Tigger when she comes out of her _“Who invited strangers over?”_ hiding spot looking for a bit of affection. Then he settles in the den and watches a season of Breaking Bad, ignoring his phone when it rings.

When Perrie comes in she’s all flushed and happy, chattering a mile a minute and giggling when the pets come running up to greet her. 

“Hey babes!” she sings planting a giant kiss on Zayn’s cheek where he sits on the recliner. She’s brought groceries so he goes to the car to collect them and follows her into the kitchen while she puts them away and continues to talk.

“My mum and I were so busy. You have to sign her cast, oh my god, it’s bright pink. I thought she’d be miserable but we just kept planning and talking and stuff. At one point your mum Skyped in. 

We got the dress narrowed down to either the Vera Wang or the Vivienne Westwood. Your mum has been so good about telling me to take my time and make sure. Of course you know my mum is all rush, rush, rush.” She pauses to bray laughter. “I swear that woman is my shining light but she's a complete nutter!

“Oh and ya know what? Your mum said it might be good if we’re gonna do the full four days of ceremonies, to maybe have a destination wedding. That way we can go somewhere strangers can’t easily get to especially if we’re going to do the, um, processional.”

“ _Baraat,_ ” 

“Yes, exactly. We can’t just do that anywhere in London, not with the paparazzi and such.”

“We can’t.”

“Yeah that’s what I’m saying. Oh! And babe I know we talked about you riding in a Bentley, but, god, you would look so good on a horse. I think your mum really wants it. She keeps talking about how dashing your father looked on his. I’ll make sure to pick the gentlest creature, don't worry. I wouldn't let them put you on some wild beast.” She laughs loud and messy ending in a snort, a sound that usually makes him smile or join in with her laughter, but it just twists in his gut now. He walks over to her and stills her hands with his.

“We… I can't,” he says, the last word struggling up out of his throat.

Perrie just stares at him for several moments then she starts nodding her head in disbelief.

“No, get off of me! You _asshole!_ What?! Are you really pulling this right now?” 

Her face has completely transformed. He’s never seen her so angry.

“Who is she?” she grits.

“There is no she,” Zayn says sadly.

“Bullshit! There always is. Is it Jemima?”

“What? Khan? No! It’s not … no.” Zayn says. Perrie starts to weep miserably. 

“There’s always a girl with you. You said… you said not again. How the _fuck_ could I have been so stupid?” 

“No, I promise there wasn't ever a woman that mattered beside you.” She doesn’t seem to really be listening to him and she won’t allow him to comfort her. “I’m so sorry I’ve been so shit to you, I do care about you.” She scoffs at him.

“Why, Zayn? You said – we made plans.” She hiccups and looks at him again, her makeup moving down her face in a torrent of tears. He knows that he owes her the truth in that moment. No more lies. Not to her. Not to himself.

“It’s Harry,” he says simply.

“What? I don't?! What?” Disbelief. Zayn’s gaze does not waver. “Harry? Styles?” She’s so thrown off; confusion is all she can communicate. 

Zayn nods and still does not break eye contact even though he desperately wants to hide. 

“Is that why you? God.... I'm so stupid. How am I so stupid?” she rattles, abruptly moving away from him and putting the kitchen island between them. “I thought it was me. I thought it was… oh my god.”

They’ve argued off and on for the better part of a year about how Zayn is rarely in the mood to fool around like when they first got together. It drives Perrie mad and she starts to hurl thinly veiled accusations. Then they give each other the silent treatment until Zayn apologizes and initiates makeup sex, sometimes days later. Then a day or so after that she’d go to ‘get something done’ and he’d get the bill from the aesthetician a few weeks later. Rinse. Repeat.

He remembers how their first argument about it had been way back during the Take Me Home Tour. They had all decided to go out to a club and Perrie wanted a quickie before they got ready. Zayn had tried but couldn’t follow through so he just insisted they had to stop so they wouldn’t be late. The worst part was that they had been put in a car with Harry to get to the club. That ride had been oppressive. 

“So you _never_ loved me, Zayn?” She sounds so young when she asks.

“No! I did. I do. I love you. I’m just not in love with you. I’m so sorry,” Zayn pleads.

“I’m – I have to go. I have to go right now. I’m going back to my mother’s house.” She stops cold. “Oh god, oh god, oh _god_ my mother’s h-h-house,” she says in realization, a fresh bout of sobs racking her body.

“I’m not going to take your mother’s home back, Perrie” Zayn says alarmed. “It’s hers. It’s in her name and everything. I wouldn’t do that.”

“No! Fuck you. I don’t – We don’t want anything from you.” She growls. “I’m leaving. I’m going upstairs to pack a bag and I’m leaving. I’m taking Hatachi with me. Don’t follow me or talk to me. Just leave me alone, Zayn Malik,” she says before stalking out of the room. 

Zayn abides by her wishes. He listens as she stomps around the bedroom directly overhead then when she clatters down the front stairs and finally when she slams the door closed. As her car starts up, Zayn reaches for his phone. For the second time in less than a week he’s shaking in his kitchen. He manages to get himself under control to tap out a text.

 

Harry doesn’t stop thinking about Zayn. He goes to a film premiere and a club opening, both as a favor to a friend. He doesn’t take anyone even though Marta is in town. He takes special care not to be seen with anyone that could be construed as a possible hook-up. Most of all, he stays in London, opting to actually stay in his home as opposed to couch surfing. He wants to sit still here. Get used to it. 

He’d just gotten use to thinking of LA as his new home, but he knows he’ll reacclimate himself to the gray and the wet of London, if that’s what it will take to be with Zayn. He hates to think like that, knowing that there is a very real possibility that Zayn will never choose him. That’s why when he gets the text asking, _“r u busy”_ he can’t even pretend to play it cool, answering _“nope”_ seconds later. 

"I broke up with perrie. Can I see u?” 

“im on my way.”

 

Harry gets to Zayn’s house in record time. He’s really not sure in what state Zayn will be but he just knows he wants to be there for him. He looks sad, certainly but he also seems stronger. They hold each other in Zayn’s front vestibule for minutes rocking back and forth. Later, over take-away, they share their plans with each other because after a bit of tentativeness on both their parts they agree that their futures are intertwined.

“We don’t have to like, declare anything Zayn. I know that might be a bit much…” Harry says at one point.

“Yeah, I’m happy for it to be between us – and the other boys for right now.” Harry nods affirmatively at including the others. They’d already made the mistake of underestimating them and he wasn’t keen to repeat it. “But… there’s no accounting for what Ms. Edwards will tell the papers. She likes to talk and I did just hurt her daughter. I just thought I’d warn you about that.” Zayn says sheepishly. “I’m sorry I put it out there like that.”

“Zayn, I don’t fault you, and I won’t care if it gets out. They talk –“

“We live.” Zayn finishes for him. “We maybe should let somebody at the label and the management know right… just in case?” Zayn asks.

“Yeah maybe, but right now I don’t really want to talk to or look at anyone that’s not Zayn Malik if that’s ok with you.” Harry says eyes heavy with contentment and too much curry.

“Ever the cheeky chappy.” Zayn says with a grin. “I guess that’s alright then.” Zayn agrees smiling and for the first time feeling truly at peace. 

 

 _"addiction is tricky. for example: a man who quit smoking for 11 years spent 15 seconds in an elevator with a man smoking a cigarette. he gave in.  
what i’m trying to say is i think i love you again."_ ~ Unknown, Found it on Tumblr and it fueled this entire chapter.


	7. The Way You Medicate My Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short coda.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost home. lol

**_HERE’S ONE FOR THE WTF FILES…_ **

_Remember One Direction?_

Of course you do! It wasn’t even three years ago that those British scamps were plastered on every surface that would hold ad space. The Fab Five for the Teletubby generation hung up their five part harmonies after their last album, _Our World_ , made a respectable showing in sales worldwide and a final world tour was the third highest grossing tour the following year. 

The band comprised of Louis Tomlinson, Liam Payne, Niall Horan, Zayn Malik, and Harry Styles certainly branched out and all members are still taking the entertainment world by storm.

Tomlinson has made a name for himself as a popular TV show host in jolly old England. Payne – or Big Payno, as the Los Angeles nightclub wunderkind has redubbed himself, also pulls pinch-hit duty for producers like Pharrell and XXYYXX. 

That brings us to Horan and Styles. Harry Styles, the one who was predicted to pull a Timberlake and go solo from the moment they sang their first note, actually went against expectation and started a twosome with the other fan favorite, Irishman, Niall Horan in a new whimsically named band, Banana. Their heartfelt guitar-driven folk rock is just the sound for aged Directioners who have braved the wilds of middle school and now find themselves wanting to mellow out a bit in their old age as high school sophomores. 

Their debut album _Automatism_ sold a triumphant 2.5 million copies worldwide and its lead single, “Must Have Been Mistaken,” which features yet another 1D refugee, Zayn Malik, stayed at the top of the US BB Hot 100 for seven consecutive weeks last year. 

This is where it gets interesting.

Malik has been traveling with Banana for most of the tour, when he’s not in London working with Emeli Sande’ and Naughty Boy to form the triumvirate hit making squad responsible for internationally ubiquitous tracks for Sam Smith, Beyonce, Common, and Damian Marley. He’s also done a star turn lending his immaculate vocals (and international profile) to songs by Jay Sean, Shide Boss, and Tinie Tempah.

You might wonder why someone with such a disparate career trajectory as Styles and Horan would be traveling with them so often. Wonder no more!

In a move so out of left field it was met with a collective “WHAT?!” by everyone in the PopHeat offices, it appears that Styles and Malik are married. 

Yes, as TMZ reported earlier this week, the London General Register Office issued a marriage certificate to one, Zayn Javaad Malik and one, Harry Edward Styles. 

 

An official spokesperson for the pair stated:

“Mr. and Mr. Styles-Malik are a very private couple.” 

A very private couple!? Ya think??? 

If you’ll remember, Malik was once linked to a British singer Perrie Edwards from the now-defunct Little Mix. Their engagement ended abruptly, with many speculating that it was actually Malik’s relationship with colleague Emeli Sande’ that led to its demise. 

Well, congrats guys. We hope you have a long and wonderful life. We also hope that medical science finds a way for dudes to make babies with other dudes, because seriously all of that genetic perfection really should be allowed to mingle and create beautiful babies with killer hair who excel at harmonizing. 

Banana is currently on a large theater tour of the US that is 80% sold out. Not exactly the football stadiums 1D was setting up and knocking down, but certainly not anything to sneeze at. Buy your tickets [here]()!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to say an enormous THANK YOU to everyone who took the time to read and comment and poke me on tumblr or twitter and listen to me agonize over this. I never thought I'd finish this thing when I started it at the beginning of Take Me Home Tour. I still had my doubts when I started posting it during the Where We Are Tour. Better late than never! 
> 
> BIG UPS to Sarah, my patient and tough-but-fair beta. Thank you to Grace for listening to me wine and thank you to Lola and Jasmine for being such great cheerleaders and perhaps for being subjected to a bit of my wining as well lol <3
> 
> Z A R R Y S Q U A D 
> 
> Come visit me on twitter and tumblr. @mindizmyspear :)


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